The Open Secret
by Willa Dedalus
Summary: Exiled from Downton Abbey over a scandal, Lady Mary Crawley is ruined. Meanwhile Matthew Crawley has lived a content life in Manchester with his parents, Dr. Reginald Crawley and Isobel Crawley. Before the Earl of Grantham changed his life, his eldest daughter did. An AU story in a different place with different results; created by Willa Dedalus and Apollo888.
1. Chapter 1

_"The Open Secret – the secret that lies open to all, but is seen into and understood by only few."_

_-Thomas Carlyle_

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><p><em><strong>Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, April 1912<strong>_

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><p>Matthew groaned. He tried desperately to hold it back, to keep it deep within his chest, but it burst forward as sensation shot through him. He swallowed and gasped, gulping air into his lungs desperately, his breathing loud and ragged.<p>

"Darling," she laughed seductively. "You must be quiet. Someone could hear us and come in!"

Matthew groaned again. Her weight on top of him was warm and comforting, a delightful reminder that she was here with him, that this was real and not yet another fantasy running through his imagination. His hips moved of their own accord, responding to her light touch, his body yearning for her almost as fiercely as his heart did.

She kissed his cheek, then his shoulder and ran her tongue along his chest, her hand continuing its firm hold on him. His legs shook, his muscles tensing as the dull ache in his body flared sharply into an electric burst.

He ran his hands from her hair down across the silk covering her back. His fingers clawed at her skirt, pulling it up her legs as she kept him trapped beneath her.

"So impatient, Matthew," she drawled in his ear.

Her free hand moved down to cover one of his. She smiled against his skin as she guided his hand beneath her skirt to her knickers.

"Go on, then," she teased him, smiling as his fingers shook when they came into contact with the light silk covering her bottom.

Growling at her boldness, he pushed the garment down her hips, feeling heat radiating off of her as their exposed skin caressed each other.

"Please," he croaked, turning his head to kiss her fiercely.

She returned his kiss, her hands moving up to dance lightly through his blond hair.

When she pulled back and looked down at him, he gazed lovingly up at her dark eyes and swollen lips. What they were doing was quite shocking and forbidden, but their shared desire was so strong that nothing else mattered. It had been like this between them from the very beginning. He had always had a vague idea about what it would feel like to be with a woman. He had notions and beliefs regarding the proper way of doing things and behaving. She had obliterated all of that, thrown his world asunder, and though their conduct was rather startling, he was indescribably grateful for it.

She leaned down and kissed his neck, pressing her breasts against him and feeling him wrap his arms around her waist.

"Yes, Matthew," she breathed into his ear.

The mattress creaked as he turned them over, pulling her leg across his waist as he pushed her onto her back. Her arms encircled his shoulders and she cradled his head against her hair as she opened herself to him.

Matthew breathed out as they joined, his heart soaring as he heard her sigh and clutch him closer. All thoughts of teasing her and prolonging their bliss were entirely set aside as he began to move with her. She kissed his cheek, her hands splaying across his back, pulling him, urging him, and encouraging him to increase his pace.

She grit her teeth as she reached her limit, her cries of pleasure reduced to soft whimpers as she fought to contain the desire to scream at the delirium overpowering her. Matthew followed soon after, grabbing handfuls of the bed sheet beneath her as he stilled himself, his body tensing as he gave in to a moment he only knew with her, would only ever want to know with her.

Matthew kept his weight balanced on his arms, refusing to collapse on top of her. She ran her hand through his damp hair and pulled him back down towards her. She kissed him softly and he rolled them over again so he was on his back and she could curl into him, resting her head in the crook of his chest and shoulder.

Their sharp breathing slowed and their heartbeats returned to normal. He kissed her forehead several times, running his hand along her back, idly staring down at her in beautiful happiness.

"I have to get back to work," she smiled. "Your mother will wonder where I've gone to."

"I would very much appreciate it," he said in a low voice. "If you did not mention Mother so soon after what we've just done."

Her laugh was sultry and tickled his chest pleasantly.

"Would you prefer if your father found out how we are using this spare room then?" she teased.

Matthew groaned.

"They wouldn't hold you responsible, they adore you," he laughed. "I, on the other hand, would be branded a seducer, and may find myself the subject of a new surgical technique."

"Well, we can't have that," she replied. "I'd like to keep you in one piece, thank you."

"As you wish," he smiled, pulling her into a kiss.

"Don't you have to go back to work?" she smiled at him, resting her chin on his chest and looking at him playfully.

"I took the rest of the afternoon off. My desk was clear," he smiled. "And I thought I would take you to dinner after your shift was done."

"I get dinner as well?" she asked mischievously. "Why, aren't you the gallant one?"

"I know how much effort is required to keep you interested, my Lady," he retorted.

"Make yourself presentable and come seek me out in another hour. I should be done by then," she smiled.

She rose gracefully from the bed and smoothed out her skirt. She buttoned her blouse and picked up her apron from the ground, looking at him pointedly as she tied it back in place.

Matthew sat up and pulled her down for another kiss. She slapped at him lightly and kissed him back, pecking him three times on the lips before pulling away.

"You'll make me late!" she scolded him.

He reached out and took her hands in his, squeezing them and smiling up at her.

"I love you, Mary," he beamed.

"I know you do," she smirked. She kissed him again before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1912<strong>_

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><p>Robert Crawley, Seventh Earl of Grantham, read his newspaper in silence. His daughters, Edith and Sybil, were quietly eating their breakfast and were seated at the far end of the table. They were not permitted to sit closer as a matter of decorum and instruction from their Cousin James, who was continually imposing his often tyrannical proclamations on the family. Young ladies should sit away from the adults, James ordered. There was no need for them to overhear the serious business discussed at the other end of the table, and so they should always be a respectable distance away. The order reeked of snobbery and paranoia, but the girls were powerless against it. They had learned long ago that their father could offer little defense.<p>

Ever since the unfortunate incident, James had grown more bold and domineering, and Robert had retreated, allowing his Cousin free reign in most matters, and guarding his objections carefully. This morning, Edith and Sybil were grateful for having the Morning Room to themselves. With Cousin James and Cousin Patrick away, they could at least enjoy breakfast without fear of being chastised or worse.

As Robert turned the page of the paper, he sighed audibly. He motioned for the butler, Carson, who came immediately to his side. Although Carson was by no means elderly, he seemed to have aged significantly in the last year. There was a sad spectre haunting his steps, although he would always vehemently deny it.

"What is it, Papa?" Sybil asked tentatively as Robert murmured instructions to the butler. Edith shook her head. Sybil was always the bold and fearless one, not caring what other people thought of her.

Lord Grantham's face creased and he frowned down the table at Sybil. Edith shot her little sister a discouraging look, a plea for her to hush. However, as Carson departed from the room, Sybil raised her voice once more.

"Is it news about the _Titanic_?"

Robert sighed and set his cup of tea on the saucer. He placed his folded newspaper down and drummed his fingers on the table nervously.

"Yes, my dear," Robert answered, slightly agitated. "Of course it is about the Titanic. Nothing else is in the news these days. First it was rumours and now it seems some of it is true. I just hope for all of our sakes that James and Patrick survived this horrendous nightmare."

Sybil's eyes widened. While Edith took the time to consider what their Papa had said, Sybil forged ahead, a single thought entering her mind.

"Papa, you should write to Mary and let her know this news!" Sybil said quickly.

Robert's gaze grew cold. Edith blinked and looked down at her breakfast plate. How could Sybil be so foolish?

"No," Lord Grantham said curtly. He turned his attention to the family dog, Pharaoh, who sat by his feet. Robert scratched the dog's ears and stroked his neat and clean fur.

"But, Papa," Sybil said emotionally, undeterred by his rebuke. "This is a very serious matter for our family. Mary needs to know, surely?"

Robert rose from his chair, his paper neatly tucked under his arm.

"My dear girl," he said as he passed by her chair without stopping.

"Mary isn't family," he declared, his voice filled with venom.

Sybil's mouth fell open and she watched in shock as Robert Crawley, Seventh Earl of Grantham, left the room without another word.

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><p><em><strong>Trafford Restaurant at the Midland Hotel, Manchester, England, April 1912<strong>_

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><p>Matthew glanced about his surroundings, the bustle of the breakfast service all around him. He smiled. He truly loved this restaurant. It was spread over two floors separating the pub on the lower level from the fine dining room upstairs. The entrance to the restaurant was through the gardens, famous for their strawberries, gooseberries, and various garden herbs; however to enter the pub there was a side door off the street. This separation created a unique harmony, as though there were two different but coexisting worlds between upstairs and downstairs.<p>

The restaurant had large bay windows that overlooked the gardens below, a cinematic view of cascading walls, plants and flowers. And as one walked up the staircase, the dark wood of the lower level gave way to the bright chandeliers and cream and aubergine wallpaper of the upstairs fine dining area. The upstairs not only served excellent food, but offered the intimate privacy that Matthew required. Normally, a man would be rather proud and almost boastful to be meeting a woman at The Trafford. However, when it came to this woman, Matthew knew that nothing was 'normal', and he had grown to rather like that. Having her to himself was quite exciting.

As he waited for his guest, he read over the Manchester Guardian for the sixth time, his brow furrowed in disbelief. It was impossible to understand. The _Titanic_ had sunk on her maiden voyage. Less than a week ago it had left port in Southhampton, the first of what everyone thought would be many triumphant and luxurious journeys across the Atlantic. Now she was gone, the whereabouts of her crew and passengers unknown and presumed lost.

Matthew read over the front page story with a shiver down his spine. He skipped over the vast descriptions about the seemingly unsinkable ship. What did it matter to report the _Titanic_ was eight hundred feet long? Or that she measured forty-six odd tons? Matthew scoffed at the focus on the boat when lives had been lost. He often championed the rights of the people, both personally and professionally as a lawyer. He was outraged that barely a paragraph detailed the extent of the horror for the unfortunate victims. There had not been enough lifeboats, only enough for one-third of the _Titanic_'s total capacity; resulting in catastrophe. Just reading the words, Matthew imagined the many unanswered prayers, and empty cries in the cold Atlantic waters. An unofficial message from Cape Race, Newfoundland, stated that only a hundred and seventy-five have been saved out of two thousand four hundred persons on board.

"Mr. Crawley," the waiter said, interrupting his tumultuous thoughts. "Your guest has arrived."

Matthew looked up and his face brightened as Lady Mary Crawley was escorted to his table. She looked radiant in the new dress he had given her last night. He had thought that the cerulean blue fabric would suit her, and he was extremely pleased to see now that his estimation was correct.

"Thank you Henry," Matthew replied with gratitude, dismissing the waiter with a nod. Matthew rose from his chair and silently helped her be seated. He fought the urge to kiss her cheek, and instead kept a respectable distance as he went back to his chair. Mary gave him a conspiratorial smile.

He smirked as he watched Mary glance about, keeping her mouth shut until the waiter had disappeared and she was certain no one was within ear shot of their window table. It was almost as though she still distrusted everyone around her to be a spy, cataloguing her every movement. Matthew allowed her these idiosyncrasies. He learned long ago not to question her in certain matters.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Good morning," Mary replied. "I see that you were able to steal away to meet me. You're taking a great risk being seen with me, you know."

"It's entirely worth it," Matthew said confidently, causing Mary to look away and bite her lower lip.

"You look stunning," he continued, dropping his stare before it became inappropriate. He reached over and poured her a cup of tea.

"I think you bought me this dress so that we will colour coordinate," Mary said as she picked up her menu. Her voice sounded like a sharp accusation, but he could decode that she was actually being playful. Her light smirk as she glanced down at the menu confirmed his suspicion.

He smiled as he placed the tea pot back down. "What do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"This dress is the same colour as your eyes," Mary answered, her eyes looking up to meet his briefly.

Matthew smiled at her and raised his eyebrow knowingly.

"That wasn't the source of my inspiration, actually. I'll have you know that your dress is also the same colour as the bedspread in my bedroom," he whispered.

"I know," Mary said lightly, blushing slightly as she lowered her eyes again.

"So then you should also know why I would want your dress to match the bedspread, and contrast nicely with the colour of my bedroom floor, as well," Matthew said, flashing his teeth briefly.

"Matthew," Mary scolded him, her blush deepening. "We're in public!"

"Very well, my Lady," Matthew smirked and busied himself with his own menu.

They paused briefly as Henry returned to take their orders. Matthew ordered for both of them. Mary smiled to herself as he got her order exactly right without her even telling him. They resumed their conversation after the waiter was out of earshot.

"Did you read about the _Titanic_?" Matthew asked as he stirred milk into his tea.

"Yes," Mary responded with seeming disinterest. "It's all anyone talks about, it seems. The _Titanic_, a name derived from Titan in Greek Mythology, which means gigantic."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but didn't your little sister Sybil say in her last letter that your cousins James and Patrick were going to sail on the _Titanic_?" Matthew asked.

Mary's posture grew rigid.

"She may have. The _Titanic_ would be the only ship big enough to suit James and Patrick's egos." The bitterness and contempt in Mary's voice dripped as she was forced to repeat her cousins' names.

"Well," Matthew continued hesitantly. "Shouldn't you write home, given what has happened?"

Mary set her teacup on the saucer. Her hand came up nervously to fiddle with her string of pearls. Although her mannerisms were anxious, when she spoke again, her clipped tone was firm, leaving no room for sentiment.

"Manchester is my home," she said assertively. "There's no need to find out anything more than what I've read in the Guardian."

"Darling," Matthew said quietly. "I understand, truly. But, if something has happened to James and Patrick, you should contact your family. It could change everything. It could mean that…"

"It means nothing. It changes nothing." Mary said quickly, looking at him fiercely. "I mean nothing to them, and they mean even less to me."

Matthew swallowed. His expression softened and he nodded silently.

Mary reached across the table and patted his hand lightly before pulling back.

"Let's please change the topic of discussion," she said. "I'm bored talking about this. I want to spend a lovely morning with you, not waste our time discussing matters a world away that have no significance for us."

"As you wish," Matthew agreed. He was rewarded with the return of Mary's smile as the waiter brought their food to the table.

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><p>A note from the authors: Thanks for reading!<p>

Please review and share your thoughts, impressions, comments and predictions. Share one, share all!


	2. Chapter 2

_**Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, May 1912**_

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><p>Mary stood at attention, waiting patiently in the hallway outside one of the shared patients' rooms. Five other nurses stood next to her, scanning the hallway for the arrival of the supervising doctor. Mary's face betrayed nothing. Keeping her cool and her expression neutral were skills she had mastered in childhood. Her colleagues, however, were not nearly as tactful.<p>

"He mentioned the other day that I might be able to assist in a surgery!" one girl said breathlessly.

"You?" came the perplexed reply. "But how? You aren't trained for surgery. None of us are."

"He said I could observe," was the smug answer.

"You do realize that observing means you stand behind a window, don't you? You aren't actually in the operating room with him," the even more smug retort was instantaneous.

In another time, and another place, Mary would have easily shut all of them up in six words or less. In her present reality though, she felt strangely unaffected and disinterested in their banter. She was actually grateful that none of them engaged her in conversation. Lady Mary Crawley not wanting any attention. It was a new world, indeed.

"Ladies," a deep, warm voice called. "My apologies for being late. I'm afraid my only excuse is that I was indulging in some of my wife's homemade cookies and lost track of time. Please forgive me. Now, shall we go in?"

A tall, thin man with graying brown hair walked briskly past them. His beard and mustache were immaculately trimmed, giving him a paternal and distinguished air. He opened the door and held it open for the nurses to enter before him. They each walked quickly into the room, some of them trying to stifle giggles as they passed. Mary was last in line. She stole a quick glance at the doctor as she passed and he gave her a conspiratorial wink. Mary's face remained calm and serene, but she was laughing inside. This particular secret she carried was no burden.

Dr. Reginald Crawley moved past the nurses and went to the bedside of a young girl with her forearm in a temporary cast. He sat down at her bedside and smiled at her in reassurance. Mary stood off to the side and observed with a sense of pride and amusement. All of the hospital staff – nurses, administrators, doctors and even the janitors – looked at Dr. Crawley with the same awe and reverence, but for different reasons. The nurses and doctors admired his bountiful medical knowledge and his warm empathy for his patients; which was rather rare in a surgeon. The administrators appreciated his patience and wit, as well as his ability to handle any conversation with courtesy and skill. The other staff and personnel liked his friendly and approachable nature, and how he never seemed to hold himself above anyone else, despite being so well known and held in such high regard.

Mary was not too proud to admit she also was in awe of Dr. Crawley, but not only because he was a fine medical practitioner. When she had met him over a year ago, he was the first man to treat her differently than those she was used to – her Papa, her Cousin James, her Cousin Patrick, her various suitors, even her Godfather, Lord Merton. Dr. Crawley did not see her as a commodity, a pretty young thing to be bartered or commanded. He saw her as a young woman with a bright mind and a bright future, and this both scared and exhilarated her.

Matthew often teased her about who she fancied more – him or his father. She always replied that since his father was taken, she had to settle for Matthew out of respect to Isobel, who she liked very much. Matthew's petulant frown and exasperated sigh at her response were usually appeased with a quick kiss and the promise of other reparations between them. It wasn't in Mary's nature to tell Matthew her true feelings – that she loved him even more precisely because he embodied the best of both his parents, or that she enjoyed working with Dr. Crawley because he reminded her so much of Matthew.

Dr. Crawley went about applying the more stable plaster cast to the young girl's arm. His calm, reassuring words to his patient were a pleasant melody accompanying his careful work. As they all watched on, the clock chimed six-o'clock, signaling the end of the nurses' shift. With a brief nod, Dr. Crawley dismissed the nurses, who all filed back out of the room. Mary, however, remained. As she was not a fully trained nurse, but an assistant assigned to the department, she could do whatever she wished with her time, and she was now choosing to stay with Dr. Crawley. Mary smirked to herself. Not only did Lady Mary Crawley have a job, but she was even staying past working hours to carry out her duties. What a strange place this was!

Dr. Crawley examined the final plaster and nodded with a pleased expression. For the first time since Mary's arrival, the young girl smiled. It had been a very quick and easy process. Dr. Crawley did not discriminate amongst patients, even though the task could have easily been handled by a more junior doctor, Dr. Crawley was adamant that he be involved as much as possible with his patients. He was notorious for invoking his clout as a board member of the hospital to ensure that he was allowed the perk of seeing anyone who needed a doctor, no matter how trivial the case.

"There now, Molly," he said calmly. "See? I promised it was a simple fracture, and it would be easy to fix. You've been very brave."

The young girl smiled again but remained silent.

"Do you have any questions, Molly? Anything at all you want to talk about?" Dr. Crawley pressed on with a smile.

Molly shook her head, but then she bit her lip nervously and looked away.

"Mary," Dr. Crawley said as he stood from his perch on the patient's bed. "Would you hand me my coat?"

Mary picked up the white lab coat and offered it to him with a smile. Dr. Crawley rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and washed his hands with carbonic acid before redressing in the coat.

"I'll check on you later, Molly," he said. "But, I'll send in your delightfully impatient big brother Jack to see you without any further delay."

"Thank you!" The little girl squealed. With their parents out of town, Dr. Crawley knew that the young man had taken his sister's horseback riding accident rather hard. He was always pleased to see such pleasant bonds between siblings.

Dr. Crawley pulled the curtain around Molly's bed and went over to the next patient. The man had a concussion and was sleeping under a sedative. Dr. Crawley picked up the chart and scribbled some notes after observing the man's breathing for several moments. As he wrote, he spoke in a soft tone to Mary, who stood alongside him.

"Will we have the pleasure of your presence at dinner tonight, Mary?" he asked. He replaced the clipboard with notes and proceeded onward.

"Of course," she said quietly, pleased with the invitation. Dining with Matthew's family was far preferable to what she normally was stuck with in the evenings.

Dr. Crawley gave her his full attention as he looked up from the next chart. "Excellent. It's been a good day so far, and now it's gotten even better."

Mary smiled politely, still surprised by the kindness that Matthew's parents showed to her. Considering where she was less than two years ago, it was a small miracle that Mary's confidence and sense of fulfillment had been rebuilt to the point she could accept compliments without apprehension.

"Although, Matthew has not invited me, specifically. I wouldn't want to impose," she said.

"You always have a standing invitation to our home," Dr. Crawley said quietly. "Please forgive my son for not inviting you yet tonight, but I think he's afraid you'll get bored of him if he were to be around you as much as he wants to be."

Dr. Crawley smiled at her. He then nodded towards the curtain surrounding Molly's bed and winked at Mary. Mary nodded in understanding and waited until Dr. Crawley left the room before she blushed slightly. If Dr. Crawley knew of her private meetings with Matthew at the hospital, he may rethink his opinion of how bored she was of his son.

"So, Molly," she said, pulling back the curtain and giving her attention to her young charge. Obviously Dr. Crawley believed something was still on the girl's mind that was troubling her, and presumably she would feel more comfortable with a lady's insight to relieve her mind.

"Falling from a horse happens to all of us who ride," Mary said cheerfully. "I hope you won't let it discourage you in the future."

"Oh no," Molly said. "I love my horse, Buttons. I'm…" she stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm really more worried about the cast coming off in time for the Season. My Papa said I was old enough to go to London this year and Mama has put so much time into preparing me, I just don't want something like my injury to ruin everything for the family."

Mary was taken aback by these sentiments. The images of the London Social Season pulled Mary back to what now seemed like another life, when London was a far more welcoming place for her. Mary smiled at Molly in understanding. "Don't worry, dear. You'll be good as new in time for the Season. I know how important it can be, both for you and for your family. You just follow what Dr. Crawley tells you and you'll be ready to dance in no time. A girl's first Season should be enjoyed to the absolute highest degree."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 1910<strong>_

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><p>"May I have this dance, Lady Mary?" the young gentleman asked with a nervous bow and smile.<p>

"I'm terribly sorry," Mary chuckled, her eyes twinkling and showing no actual remorse at all. "My card is full for the next while. Please ask me again though later."

She sashayed away from the crestfallen would-be suitor without a second thought and took the arm of the Honourable Evelyn Napier, son of the Viscount Branksome. Evelyn's father was a friend of her Papa's, and she had reserved this dance for Evelyn weeks ago when he had written to her.

"You look stunning this evening, Mary," Evelyn smiled. "Though there was never any doubt that you would be the belle of your own debutante ball."

"I am rather pleased with how it all turned out," Mary laughed, the champagne and the attention she was receiving forming a heady mixture. She was particularly pleased with her evening dress. It was devoré velvet trimmed with gold satin and metallic lace. The fashion was scintillating and the cost exorbitant, half the national debt, she had teased to her Papa when the dress arrived at Downton Abbey. And why not? This was her Season and further, this was her own party, designed to put all of the attention where it belonged – on her. Everything for this evening had to be perfect, and so far, Mary was enjoying herself immensely.

"My father is going to ask Lord Grantham if I can take you for a walk through Hyde Park this week," Evelyn smiled, leading her on to the dance floor and taking her hand in his. "And I would very much enjoy it if you would attend the races in our family box. Do you think your Papa will agree?"

"I think it could be arranged," Mary smiled, beginning the dance steps with him. "Papa will agree to whatever I ask. It is _my_ Season, after all."

"So have I interested you enough, then? I know you have numerous invitations this week already," Evelyn said with a nervous smile. He was adorable, although not as confident as Mary would have liked. He did not seem particularly exciting either, but that did not prevent Mary from indulging in his attentions.

"Well, I…" Mary began.

"Excuse me, may I cut in?" a deep voice called from behind her.

Evelyn frowned, looking up at the interruption. "Well, we just started to…"

"Thanks," Patrick said curtly, spinning Mary out of Evelyn's arms and leading her further away on the dance floor.

"Patrick!" Mary hissed. "What do you think you're doing?" Her eyes darted around the room as she maintained her composure with so many eyes upon them.

"What's wrong, Mary?" Patrick sneered. "Haven't got a dance for your fiancé?"

"Don't say it out loud!" Mary snapped. "We agreed that I would be permitted to attend my Season without restriction!"

"My father agreed," Patrick corrected her. "If it were up to me, I would never have allowed you to gallivant around the City accepting invitations from all sides, to say nothing for this unnecessarily extravagant party. Your father is recklessly spending my inheritance. You don't need suitors, Mary. You're already taken."

"And how necessary are all the events you've been going to, Cousin Patrick?" Mary shot back. "I suppose you're just keeping up appearances by attending all of the other parties across London?" Mary retorted. "It would seem difficult for you to dance with me when I'm not at any of these other balls you've been going to."

"I don't need to answer to you, Mary," Patrick snarled, "Nor do I need to bring you along to any of the other events I have planned." He pushed his body closer against her, and whispered in her ear as they spun around the dance floor.

"You must remember that our positions are very different," Patrick warned. "And if you cannot be trusted to know, then I may have to remind you exactly what position you belong in."

"Be careful of my dress," Mary said bitterly. Her veiled threat was rather pitiful since she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

The song mercifully came to an end and Patrick released her gracefully. Completing his ruse, he gallantly stepped back and bowed reverently, the image of a perfect gentleman for the assembled guests to witness. His polite façade infuriated Mary all the more.

"Thank you for the dance, Cousin," Patrick said in a louder voice. "Enjoy yourself this evening. It's not surprising that you have a large number of suitors fighting for your regard. You are a shining star this evening, Mary."

Mary swallowed and forced herself to nod in acknowledgment. She barely kept her anger in check as Patrick strutted off the dance floor. She shook herself and smiled demurely as another suitor offered her his hand and she resumed dancing, the sting of Patrick's words still fresh in her mind.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Lady Philomena Grey, Manchester, England, May 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Thank you for dinner, Matthew," Mary smiled as he escorted her to the door of the large house.<p>

"I'm glad that you could make it," Matthew smiled. "I'm sorry that I didn't invite you sooner. I was hoping to catch you at the end of your shift and…"

"It's all right," Mary smiled. "Your father said I have a standing invitation to come to dinner with your family. That is, if you found that acceptable?" she finished a bit nervously.

"Of course I do," Matthew said a bit too quickly. Mary bit her bottom lip and looked down. "I'm quite happy to spend as much time with you as you wish, Mary," Matthew recovered.

They both stood in silence for several moments, neither one knowing quite what to say next. Finally, Mary shook herself. She did not want this evening with Matthew to end, and she realized happily that it did not have to.

"Lady Grey is actually away staying in the country this week," Mary said slowly, daring to look up at his blue eyes. "Would you like to come in, Matthew?"

Matthew grinned. "Won't that be considered improper, Lady Mary?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "The servants all went with her. Considering I'm a ruined woman, no one cares what I get up to."

"Don't call yourself that," Matthew frowned.

"That's what all of London Society calls me, among other things," Mary huffed. "Besides, I rather like having an empty house to myself. I once envied my Aunt Rosamund for accomplishing such a feat. All alone with a house in Eaton Square. I think that this kind of life suits me."

Matthew rolled his eyes and Mary unlocked the door and they went in. They walked quickly through to the kitchen, using as few lights as necessary. They made tea and found a container of shortbread biscuits. Matthew brought the tray to the dining room and they sat down with their snack.

"How was your day?" Matthew asked, pouring her tea. "Father mentioned you were very good with a particular patient? A young girl?"

Mary smiled. She still could not believe how proud she felt whenever Matthew did the simple task of asking her about her day. With one question, he demonstrated more genuine interest in something about her beyond her looks than any previous suitor ever had.

"Yes, Molly is her name. She was put in a cast for a broken arm suffered in a riding accident."

"Riding?" Matthew repeated. "That must have been rather scary for her. How young is she?"

"Not very, actually," Mary sighed. "She's having her debut this summer in London."

"Oh," Matthew replied, recognizing the change in Mary's tone of voice immediately. She never seemed to be able to say 'London' without her voice becoming slightly bitter.

"Will she be healed in time to meet the Royal Family?" Matthew asked.

"Yes," Mary smiled. "She'll be fine, thanks to your father. And she'll dazzle some young man I'm sure. Maybe she'll even get to decide for herself who she wants to marry."

"Darling," Matthew said patiently. "I didn't mean to make you angry. We don't have to talk about this if you…"

"It's all right," Mary sighed. "My life makes me angry. Not you."

"Mary, you don't need to suffer like this, you know," Matthew said cautiously. "You don't need to live in this house as an exile. Things would be so much different if you would…"

"Don't, Matthew, please," Mary shook her head, her eyes begging for his mercy. "You know why I can't live with you."

"But you can, Mary!" Matthew pleaded. "I don't care about any of that business," Matthew frowned. "Neither do my parents. It doesn't matter that…"

"Of course, it matters, Matthew!" Mary retorted. "What about your partners at the law firm? What about your clients? Will they be as progressive and understanding as you? Will they be so welcoming when you arrive at firm parties and events with the slut from Yorkshire on your arm?"

"Don't call yourself that!" Matthew snarled. "You're not…"

"Not what? A slut?" Mary laughed bitterly. "Oh darling, how naïve you are. That's what my own family says I am! That's what all of London Society knows me as! And what about you? I'm sleeping with you, aren't I? You've had me numerous times since Christmas! How eager I've been to come to your bed! What does that make me then?"

Matthew's arms were suddenly around her, pulling her against his chest. Mary blinked, pushing the tears back, but unable to stop a sob from escaping her lips. She felt ashamed of herself for taking out her rage on the only man who truly loved her. As usual, Matthew understood without her having to say anything. He did not chastise her, berate her, judge her or condemn her. He simply loved her, and eventually she sagged into his embrace.

"Mary, please," Matthew said softly, running his hand along her back.

Mary shook her head against his chest and sighed. She pulled back, staying within the warmth of his arms and looking up at him imploringly.

"I'm sorry, darling. I know you're so sweet, but this…this is all I can give you, Matthew. You deserve so much more, but you know that I just can't. Patrick and James did their work well. I am and always will be damaged goods. If you truly want to be with me, then it has to be this way."

"Of course I want to be with you!" Matthew said firmly. "But I'm going to find a way to put things right, Mary. I promise you, I will."

"Let's stop talking about this, please," Mary pleaded.

"All right," Matthew smiled bravely. "What would you like to talk about?"

"I don't want to talk," Mary smirked, leaning forward and kissing him. Matthew's eyes widened in surprise, then closed as his hands went to her waist and he returned her kisses.

"Mary," he breathed. "We don't have to…"

"Shh…" Mary smiled against his lips. "No talking," she smirked, kissing his cheek, and then moving her lips to his neck.

"For the rest of the evening, Matthew," she whispered seductively. "The only thing I want to do," she kissed his jaw. "Is make love to the most wonderful man in the world," she kissed his neck.

"Unless of course, you need to move along and get back home," she teased him, raising her eyebrow in challenge.

Matthew swallowed as she resumed kissing his neck. "I think that," he gulped. "My parents will be fast asleep already," he groaned. "And they won't care when I return."

"How convenient, darling," Mary smiled, kissing his lips before rising from her chair on slightly shaking legs and taking his hand.

Mary led him through the kitchen, laughing at him as he hastily deposited their used tray on the counter. She brought him into the hall and headed towards the stairs. As they passed a large mirror, Matthew stopped her, pulling her in front of it, holding her by her waist and standing behind her.

"Wait, Mary," Matthew smiled. "I have something for you."

He brought out a small box from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

"I want to dress you before I undress you. It's becoming a little bit of a fetish for me actually. I may need to consult a nurse's assistant…." he smiled devilishly.

"Matthew, stop," Mary laughed. "You don't have to keep buying me things. I already love the dress and the pearls and the shoes and the purse."

"Just open it," Matthew said.

Mary smiled. She opened the box and gasped.

"Oh, Matthew! They're gorgeous. Darling, I don't deserve this," she shook her head.

"Yes, you do," Matthew said firmly, taking the earrings out of the box and placing them in her hand. "You deserve this and more, Mary. And, if you truly wish to be with me, then it has to be this way. I'm afraid that you cannot stop me from buying small presents for the woman I love."

"I would hardly call them small," Mary smirked, putting on the new earrings for him to see.

Mary turned and stood before the mirror, tilting her head to examine them more closely.

"They're beautiful, Matthew. Thank you," she said, admiring her reflection. With her new jewellery, Mary's appearance resembled her old self, her Downton self. How strange it was that appearances could be so deceiving, she thought briefly.

"They're small enough that you can wear them at work," Matthew smiled, kissing her neck. "Did you notice the stone?"

"Of course," Mary smiled, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of his lips on her skin. "My birthstone. So thoughtful of you, darling."

"Any prat with money can buy a pair of earrings," he smiled, drawing a low moan from her as he kissed her shoulder. "A real gentleman knows how to make a gift meaningful."

Mary smiled as he continued his light touches to her skin, making her shiver with delight. _Any prat with money_, Matthew had said. It was remarkable how quickly Mary had learned the difference between having money, and properly using money.

"Matthew," Mary breathed, caressing his cheek as he continued to kiss her neck. "Would you like to help me prepare for bed?"

"I can manage that," Matthew growled, his eyes raking across her body in the mirror.

Mary and Matthew held hands as they climbed the steps to her bedroom. At the first floor landing, he pressed her against the banister for a sudden kiss.

"I need sustenance for the remaining journey," he said, his voice deep and his desire flaring.

Mary's back pressed against the thick oak rail and she pushed back against him playfully. As the kiss continued and deepened, her arms went around his neck and shoulders. Matthew's hands went around her body, always caressing and sometimes massaging any exposed flesh he could reach. His forehead touched hers as they finally ended the kiss. Mary shimmied onto the banister of the stairs; her body now perched in a very un-ladylike position. However, she didn't care as she pulled Matthew closer. His arms went protectively around her, as if she were to lean back there would be nothing but air.

"Oh Mary," he said breathlessly between kisses. "Be careful. You'll fall."

She tucked her head into the curve of his neck, relishing this embrace. Her earlier venomous words about being a notorious social outcast coming back to haunt her, she shuddered.

"I've already fallen, Matthew," she said sadly. Mary looked into his sensitive gaze, his beautiful blue eyes glowing with warmth and need. His response surprised her as he swooped her into his arms, carrying her up the second flight of stairs with purpose and determination. She clung to him, feeling light and secure in his grip.

Matthew lay her down on the modest bed in her attic bedroom. Although it was meant to be a demeaning placement for her in the house, she was quite fond of the space. It had beautiful wood beams and plenty of windows. Being sent to Manchester did not not mean she was now Jane Eyre, she was not the beast in the attic; particularly not when Matthew was with her.

"Clothes," Matthew gasped as he pulled his jacket off, his arms becoming caught in the sleeves, "are so tedious," he continued with annoyance.

"Well," Mary said with a small giggle as she helped him out of his jacket and vest and deftly unbuttoned his shirt. "That is because a man's clothing can not be ripped off quite as easily as a woman's..."

"You know this from experience, do you?" Matthew smirked, as he revealed his toned chest to her, causing her breath to hitch.

"I know that you're far quicker about removing my clothes than you are your own," she teased.

Mary then leaned back on the bed and raised the hem of her dress slowly, a little bit at a time. Matthew's eyes and hands followed her path, dancing across her thighs, to her hips and up her sides, his lips and tongue following the same path as his fingers and placing soothing kisses on Mary's warm skin.

When they were both naked, Matthew pulled the blanket over top of them. He gently moved her body against his, fitting himself with her, desperately resisting the urges that were blazing in his mind. Mary's frustration from their dining room conversation was not forgotten, and Matthew knew she needed comfort from him now, in addition to passion.

"I think I'm going to get you a tie to match my bedspread," Mary said sweetly, moving her hips and smiling at his strangled groan.

"Mary," Matthew said, smiling warmly at her. Both of them were gazing lustfully at each other now, their eyes dark with desire.

"You've changed my life, Mary," he said softly.

Mary had no words to truly capture what she felt for him in that moment. Instead she kissed him firmly and moved one hand down to his buttocks, grasping him wantonly and telling him what she wanted. Matthew obliged, both of them moaning as he entered her, his pace quickening almost immediately as the feel of her caused him to abandon all restraint.

Mary closed her eyes and kissed him all over his face, holding on to his shoulders as he moved faster. Yes, this was enough, she thought fleetingly as she responded to him and wonderful spasms began to fly through her body. Only Matthew filled her thoughts. She did not waste any part of her heart or mind thinking about what could have been, what had happened to her before, what had brought her to Manchester in the first place. This was her life now. She was with Matthew, which was all that she needed to be happy.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, July 1912**_

* * *

><p>"Oscar Wilde most certainly did write fairy tales," Matthew said to Mary lightly as he served himself a portion of fish.<p>

"I don't believe it. I've never seen these so-called fairy tales," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. "That sounds about as ridiculous as Henry James writing mythology."

"Isn't it true, Father?" Matthew said as he ladled sauce on his fish. "That Oscar Wilde's father was a doctor and he accepted fairy tales as payment when the person could offer nothing else?"

"First of all, you didn't say it was his father that dealt in fairy tales, you said it was Wilde himself. Second, it's not fair to bring him into our discussion," Mary said. "Your father knows everything. You should stand on your own in this debate, Matthew."

Dr. Crawley chuckled at this playful debate he was witnessing, but then he touched his chest briefly, and pushed his plate away, his fish untouched.

"Matthew's father does know a great deal, except when to lay off the sweets," Isobel said tenderly, smiling at her husband.

"You know me so well my dear," he said gratefully, his smile tight as he looked over at her.

The older couple stared at each other lovingly and everyone at the table grew silent. Mary smiled as she observed their special bond. She turned her head and caught Matthew's reaction. He was equally spellbound, but instead of smiling in admiration at his parents, he was smirking knowingly at her.

Mary couldn't help but blush. Matthew was so impertinent, and not at all as reserved and composed as a proper gentleman should be in the presence of a Lady. Despite her rebukes, he steadfastly insisted that they would, one way or another, be together until the end of their days, just like his parents. She had stopped arguing about the point months ago. Best to allow him his fantasy and continue her own belief of living in the moment. Mary had learned the harsh lesson that one could not assume that the future was granted. It was just last year that she was living almost month-by-month, unsure of what her future held or whether she had one at all. She was guarded and thoughtful by nature, but coming to Manchester had sharpened those qualities even more.

At times like these though, sitting comfortably in Matthew's family home, surrounded by love, she could not help but let her defenses down a little and admit that maybe there could be a happy ending for them someday.

"I'm afraid that I do enjoy the delicacies that patients bring to me at the hospital, as well as Mrs. Bird's and Isobel's baking of course," Dr. Crawley laughed as he turned from his wife to his son. "And Matthew's predilection for pudding is inherited from me."

"You've given me more than just my sweet tooth, I hope," Matthew joked. There was quiet laughter at the table as they continued to eat. Dr. Crawley sat sipping his wine, looking at Mary and Matthew thoughtfully.

"Mary," he said calmly after the lull had passed. "Believe it or not, Matthew is right this time. Wilde did write fairy tales, and I've got them in my library. If you ever want to read them, please take them for as long as you wish."

Matthew smiled at her triumphantly. Mary rolled her eyes but smiled at Dr. Crawley.

"Thank you," she said politely to his offer.

She sipped her wine and gave Matthew a teasing frown, raising her eyebrow at him in challenge. His family's generosity still shocked her, even though she had seen and experienced Dr. Crawley's many kindnesses for some time now. It was a strange contrast to compare him to her own Papa, and yet the only similar traits they shared were that they were both proud men who had vast libraries. However, Dr. Crawley didn't remove scandalous authors, or keep a tally on books he loaned to his own children.

"There are no myths written by Henry James sadly," Dr. Crawley said with a smile. "Although I did very much enjoy his essays about travelling through England. I think it's a proper way to travel – no tickets or luggage, just imagination."

"That is your father's courteous way of reminding me there is no need to leave Manchester, even for a holiday," Isobel teased.

"Well, as I always say," he raised his glass proudly, as Matthew and Isobel interjected.

"_What Manchester does today, the rest of the world does tomorrow," _they both said with a loud sigh.

The three of them laughed and Mary found herself joining in along with them. Their dinner table was warm and welcoming, a coming together of a true loving family, rather than the battlefield of fierce verbal sparring that she grew up with at Downton Abbey. She was not on trial simply because of her gender, she was not being fed a diet of intimidation and disappointment. Matthew's dinner table was warm and comfortable. It gave her goose bumps at how easily she was accepted without any hesitation. She was important to Matthew, and that alone was enough for her to be welcomed by his parents.

"My favourite Henry James," Matthew offered, continuing the discussion "Is his ghost story, _Turn of the Screw_. The ambiguity heightens the suspense."

"The scariest part of that story," Mary answered, "is obviously the governess. I've never met a governess that wasn't awful, and all four of mine were hardly angels."

"I've never cared much for James myself," Isobel said, adding her light voice to the discussion. "Do you have a favourite, Mary?"

Mary was reflective as she pondered this friendly question. She did indeed have a partiality to a certain novel.

"Please tell us, darling," Matthew pried. "Don't worry, you're not being scrutinized here. Mother is probably just looking for a recommendation so she can reconsider her opinion on Henry James".

"Well," Mary replied. "I never cared for '_What Maisie Knew_,' when I was younger, but it has become my favourite of all his works."

Dr. Crawley nodded his head at this statement.

"The books we can take with us as we mature, always have the greatest value, since those characters can mirror who we are, or who we want to be," he said.

Matthew nodded in agreement. "And that is why I will always love Kipling," he said fondly.

"Yes," Isobel said with nostalgia, smiling at Matthew. "The world would truly be a sad place if that ever changed."

Mary was about to ask Matthew about his favourite work of Kipling's when they were interrupted by Davis, the family butler, entering the dinning room.

"Terribly sorry, Sir, but there is a visitor for you," Davis said quietly to Dr. Crawley.

"A visitor? We aren't expecting anyone tonight," Isobel frowned at her husband.

"Who is it, Davis?" Matthew asked.

"It's Lord Merton, Sir. He apologized for coming without warning, but he said it's urgent," Davis announced.

Mary gasped, then covered her mouth immediately.

"I'll only be a moment," Dr. Crawley said, rising swiftly from the table and following Davis out of the dining room.

Mary stared after him, frowning at what this could mean.

"He wouldn't know that you're here," Matthew said quietly, looking at Mary. "It must have to do with the hospital."

"Matthew's right," Isobel said, reaching out and squeezing Mary's hand. "Lord Merton is a patron of the Royal Infirmary after all, and Reginald is a board member. It's probably something boring and inconsequential."

"That requires him coming into the City during the dinner hour?" Mary asked in disbelief.

Matthew looked at her thoughtfully, then rose from his seat and took her hand. Mary looked at him in confusion.

"Come," he smiled with reassurance.

"Where?" Mary frowned.

"To find out what this boring hospital business is all about," Matthew said patiently.

"Matthew," Isobel said. "You aren't going to take Mary to your…"

"Mother," Matthew warned. "It's a secret," he said playfully.

Mary rose from the table and Isobel nodded to her encouragingly. As the two left the dining room, Isobel smiled to herself.

Keeping a firm hold on her hand, Matthew took Mary through the kitchen and up the servant's stairs at the back of the house. They crossed the hallway swiftly, moving back towards the front where Matthew's bedroom was located. Mary could hear voices coming from the front foyer. She became increasingly nervous.

Matthew squeezed her hand in support and took her through his bedroom. Mary bit her bottom lip as she saw the familiar bed and the blue bedspread covering it. Matthew put a finger to his lips, smiling at her playfully as he opened another door and took her out into a small landing that she had not previously noticed. She had assumed the other door was one of his closets.

The voices of Dr. Crawley and her Godfather were very clear now, as though they were in the same room with them. Matthew motioned for Mary to sit down with him on a small settee that had been placed next to the wall. Mary's eyes widened as they looked down past the railing and to the foyer below. The large mirror that hung across the room from the main door to the Crawley family home was facing them now, and Mary could clearly see the reflection of Dr. Crawley and Lord Merton talking to each other below them.

Mary's eyes widened and she looked at Matthew. He winked at her, motioned for her to be silent once more, and then nodded towards the foyer as they listened in.

"If this isn't for hospital business, then what is so urgent, your Lordship?" Dr. Crawley asked. "Forgive me, I don't mean to be rude, but I've worked evenings all week and Isobel will be quite cross with me if I don't return to dinner shortly."

"I won't take up much of your time, Reginald. I appreciate you seeing me at this hour. I could have waited I suppose, but it's rather important news and I felt you needed to know right away."

"Very well. It must be important to bring you into the City. What can I do for you? Would you like to come into the parlour?" Dr. Crawley asked politely.

"That won't be necessary. I won't be long. It's difficult to explain. Do you remember my Goddaughter, Mary? She's volunteering at the hospital. I believe she may be working in your department, or with Isobel or some other nurses."

Mary frowned in alarm. What did Lord Merton have to tell Dr. Crawley about her?

Matthew ran his hand along her back, calming her and keeping her still.

"Yes, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley said respectfully, adding her title to her name. "I believe Isobel has supervised her a few times. She says she's quite good, and a very diligent worker from what I understand."

Mary smiled at the compliment.

"Mary isn't important," Lord Merton huffed. "But, my news concerns her father, the Earl of Grantham."

"Yes?" Dr. Crawley asked, perplexed.

"Well," Lord Merton continued, "I'm sure you remember the unfortunate business of the Titanic back in April? Two of the passengers were James Crawley and his son, Patrick, both from Yorkshire. They've both gone missing."

"How terrible," Dr. Crawley said genuinely.

"Quite. It gets worse, though. You see, James Crawley was the first cousin of Robert Crawley, the Earl. James was next in line to succeed Robert as Lord Grantham, and of course Patrick his son was to be next in line after him," Lord Merton explained.

"Good heaven," Dr. Crawley stated. "So the next two heirs to the Earl of Grantham are missing?"

Lord Merton nodded grimly. "Missing, and presumed dead. Although the Earl has not given up hope they will be found, it behoves him to take certain measures for the sake of his title and Estate."

Mary's hand went to her mouth. Matthew's brow creased.

"What a disaster," Dr. Crawley shook his head. "But, Your Lordship, I still don't understand. What does this have to do with me?"

"The Earl's family is rather small, and so finding a male descendant to the Grantham line is difficult. They weren't aware of anyone beyond James and Patrick previously. I've known Robert for years, but our families are not related by blood."

Mary could not help but roll her eyes. Funny, she thought, even though Lord Merton was not related to her Papa, he was just as ruthless it seemed as far as she was concerned.

"I'm sorry, Lord Merton," Dr. Crawley said, losing his patience. "I still don't see how any of this concerns…"

"It's you, Reginald," Lord Merton said, with a hint of sadness. "You and your line are the last known male descendants of the Crawley line. You and your son are the heirs to the Earl of Grantham."

Matthew's mouth dropped open in shock. Mary's eyes went wide.

"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Crawley asked in disbelief.

"Your great-grandfather was a younger son of the third Earl of Grantham," Lord Merton explained. "You are Robert Crawley's third cousin."

"_No_," Dr. Crawley said confidently, "We may share a family name, but that is all. I've never heard of having distant aristocratic relatives in my life."

Lord Merton shook his head. Dr. Crawley was the only man he knew who could find out he was descended from the peerage and his first reaction would be to deny it.

"I was sent a telegram by a Mr. Murray," he continued, "He is the solicitor for Lord Grantham. According to his genealogy research, you and the Earl are, in fact, very distantly related."

Mary stared at Matthew. Matthew's brow was creased, his eyes still trained on the mirror below.

"I don't know what to say," Dr. Crawley replied.

Mary swallowed. It was a rare moment when Dr. Crawley was at a loss for words, and rarer still that she and Matthew were scared into shock as well.

"The reason that I wanted to tell you so urgently," Lord Merton continued, "Is because Murray is on his way to Manchester. He wants to meet with you. I don't know what he expects of you or what more there is to it, but I thought you should know before a strange man appears at your door. At least, a strange man that you don't know, anyway," Lord Merton added wryly.

"Thank you, Your Lordship," Dr. Crawley nodded, his eyes blank. "I'll be sure to meet with Mr. Murray when he arrives."

The two men stared at each other for a moment.

"I wouldn't worry," Lord Merton finished. "It is simply a formality at this point, until James and Patrick can be found."

"Thank you for telling me. Good night, Your Lordship," Dr. Crawley said extending his hand and ending this strange confrontation decidedly.

"Good night, Reginald. Please give my excuses to Isobel for interrupting your dinner," Lord Merton recovered. He was certainly not used to being dismissed by anyone, but his business with Reginald was done.

Once the trusted servant Davis closed and locked the door, Dr. Crawley stepped back towards the dining room. He spoke out as he went.

"Matthew, please bring Mary back down to the dining room. We have much to discuss," he said.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Central Railway Station, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary stepped gingerly off the train, looking left and right along the busy platform. The sky overhead was somewhat dreary and overcast. Mary frowned slightly as she took in the large arched steel beams high overhead the train platforms. So industrial. So utilitarian. So unwelcoming.<p>

"Mary," a voice called.

Mary turned and smiled as an older gentleman approached her.

"Godfather!" Mary beamed, reaching her hands out to him.

Lord Merton took her hands quickly, then dropped them. He nodded to his driver, who went to assist a porter with Mary's luggage. Lord Merton turned and walked briskly down the platform, motioning for Mary to follow.

"Thank you for coming to meet me," Mary said pleasantly as they walked. "I would have been quite lost otherwise, I think."

"Of course," Lord Merton replied plainly.

They reached his car and the porter loaded Mary's luggage. Lord Merton and Mary ducked into the backseat and they were soon on their way.

"How are your sons, Larry and Tim? I'm looking forward to renewing acquaintances. I haven't seen them since my Season," Mary asked.

"They're fine," Lord Merton said distractedly, looking out the window.

"It was a rather long train ride," Mary said, puzzled as to why her Godfather kept looking out the window. "I must say the scenery here is somewhat strange. All the buildings seem to look the same."

"Manchester is a working city. It may not have the palaces of London or the quaint shops of the villages, but it is a thriving metropolis. I know you don't understand these things, but England owes a lot of its wealth and prosperity to this city," Lord Merton declared.

He turned and caught his god-daughter's roll of her eyes as she looked out her window.

"Mary," Lord Merton sighed. "This isn't Yorkshire."

"No, of course, it isn't," Mary said quietly. "I know that."

She remained quiet as the car wound through the streets of the city, eventually coming to a stately looking brick house on a quiet street a few short blocks away from the city centre.

"Come, Mary," Lord Merton said as the driver opened the door for them.

Mary frowned as she stepped out of the car and took in her surroundings. Her hands tightened around her purse.

"I thought your manor was outside of the City, Godfather," Mary said suspiciously.

"It is," Lord Merton replied, walking quickly up the walk to the front door. "This is my city home. My sister, Lady Philomena, lives here."

Lord Merton opened the door with his own key, and stepped aside for Mary to walk through first.

Mary stepped into the foyer and looked around cautiously. The home reminded her of a smaller, scaled down version of Painswick House in London, her Aunt Rosamund's home.

"I don't understand," Mary shook her head as the driver brought her luggage inside. "I thought that I would be staying with…"

"Francis! Is that you?" a shrill voice called from down the hall.

Lord Merton rolled his eyes. "Philomena, we're here."

A short, thin woman stepped into the foyer, followed by a tall thin man who surely was her butler. She looked at Mary with a scowl. Mary held up her chin and looked back at her, guessing Lady Philomena must be older than her Mama.

"So, this is the one, is she?" Lady Philomena frowned, looking Mary up and down. "Strange, she's dressed quite well, but then again, it is daylight still."

Mary pursed her lips, holding back a sharp rebuke.

"Philomena, this is Lady Mary Crawley. Mary, this is my sister, Lady Philomena Grey," Lord Merton spat out the introductions quickly.

"Lady Philomena," Mary said icily.

"Lady Mary," Lady Philomena huffed, then turned to Lord Merton as though Mary was not even there. "She won't be eating with me, will she?"

"No," Lord Merton replied. "She'll keep to herself."

"She should," Lady Philomena said, looking over at Mary again. "I still don't understand why you can't find her a room somewhere else."

"She has a room," Lord Merton shot back. "It's here, in my house. She is here on my generosity, just as you are, Philomena. I believe in charity after all, though I also believe in taking it away, if necessary."

"If you say so, brother," Lady Philomena sighed. She looked back at Mary. "You can make use of the servants, so long as I'm not using them. The same goes for the house. I expect you won't be around when I'm entertaining guests, and don't feel the need to tell me when you're coming or going. That's none of my concern. The less I know about you, the better."

Mary maintained her calm exterior, and nodded slightly. Inside, she seethed. The nerve of this old biddy to talk to her in such an insolent manner!

"Lewis will bring your luggage upstairs," Lord Merton said, nodding to the butler.

"Put her on the top floor," Lady Philomena said. "I don't want to see or hear her if I can help it. Have Sara show Lady Mary her dressing room and bath. Make sure the maids understand that they aren't to help Lady Mary in the mornings or the evenings. I can't release them unless I'm not home."

"Yes, Your Ladyship. Your Lordship," Lewis bowed, then picked up Mary's suitcases and carried them up the stairs.

Lady Philomena turned and disappeared back down the hall, not even bothering to say goodbye to her own brother.

"Godfather," Mary said coldly, turning towards him, her rage threatening to explode. "When I wrote to you asking for your assistance, it was not so that I would be sequestered away with…your lovely sister. To put me in the attic of all places, and to have no lady's maid! It's unacceptable!"

"Unacceptable?" Lord Merton frowned. "Mary, I don't believe you truly understand your situation. You are here on my charity, and thanks in no small part to the intervention of your Grandmother. My family has lived in Manchester for five generations, Mary, and we have a name to uphold, both here and in London. Sheltering you here is a supremely generous act, I assure you! The rules of this house are set by my sister, and you shall obey them, or you shall find yourself other living accommodations on your own."

Mary's eyes widened in shock. "A Lady cannot live on her own, Godfather! You know that!"

"Yes, I do. And you would be wise to remember that as well, Mary. Now," Lord Merton composed himself. "I'll wait while you go upstairs and freshen up. We have another stop to make when you're ready to go."

Mary turned and went upstairs, her steps stiff and her hands shaking. Coming to Manchester and to her Godfather was supposed to be the better of the few options available to her. As she walked quickly along the first landing and up the narrow stairs to the attic, she wondered if she had chosen wrong.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary stood stoic and rigid, her chin raised, the tears held firmly at bay. She wondered if she even had any tears left at this point. She had shed more of them in the past days than she could count. Her luggage was loaded into the back of the motor, and Taylor opened the door for her, his eyes downcast.<p>

"Wait," the Dowager Countess called, stepping forward and stomping her cane on the ground. "This is a travesty! I will not permit this."

"Mama, please," Robert hissed, standing rigid in line with the rest of the family.

"Cousin Violet," James sneered. "Perhaps you would be willing to take Mary in? That would be a splendid display of generosity. Of course, to ensure there was no misunderstanding, we couldn't allow you and Mary to live at the Dowager House. It would send the wrong message, you understand?"

"You can't threaten Granny!" Sybil shouted. "The Dowager House isn't yours; it's our family's property! Grandpapa would never allow it!"

"_Your_ Grandpapa, Lady Sybil," James said caustically. "Is the same man who invited me and my family to move into Downton Abbey years ago. He trusted me to protect the family name and our honour," James said. He turned to the Earl with a hard glare.

"Robert, I expect you will keep your other daughters in line. Anyone who wishes to champion Mary's cause can pack their bags and join her."

Robert grit his teeth. He stared back at James, his lips tight.

James kept his eyes locked with his older cousin, his face unreadable, appearing almost bored.

Patrick merely stood next to his father and smiled at the display.

Robert looked away and shook his head at Cora.

"Sybil, that's enough," Cora whispered.

Mary swallowed. Her parents' behaviour would have shocked her if she wasn't already so numb from all she had witnessed over the years of James and Patrick living at Downton Abbey. Now, she wasn't surprised at all. Once again, in a battle of wits and a fight for power over their family, James had won and her father had capitulated with barely a word.

"There," James smiled. "We can all get along once we realize where our priorities should truly lie. Things are ever so much smoother when we all work together, aren't they, Robert?"

James turned and went back into the house. Patrick smirked with glee.

"Best wishes, Mary," he grinned, before he turned and followed his father back inside.

"Mary!" Sybil cried, running forward and embracing her.

"Shh, it's all right, Sybil," Mary said softly as the young girl sobbed against her. "I'll be all right. You know me. I'm never down for long."

"Mary," Edith said shakily as she came to her side. "I…I can't believe this is happening."

Mary sighed as she looked at her sister. "It's happening," she said curtly. "Take care of Sybil...and take care of yourself."

Edith nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks. She slowly helped Mary separate Sybil from her before Mary broke down.

"Mary," Cora said quietly, stepping towards her.

Mary stiffened, looking at her Mama with narrow eyes.

"I wish you would reconsider," Cora said. "I can write to your Grandmamma. She can find you somewhere in New York to start over."

"I said no," Mary retorted. "I'd rather stay with Godfather. I'd rather stay with family."

Cora cringed as if she was slapped. She took Mary's gloved hand and placed an envelope in it.

"Take this," Cora said. "I don't know if Cousin James will permit us to write to you or to send anything more. Mary, please understand, if we could have done anything to…"

"Goodbye, Mama," Mary said, venom dripping from her voice. She looked away from her, refusing to meet her gaze.

Cora nodded and stepped back, shaking her head.

"I thought this decade would mean a better life for women," Violet sighed, taking Mary's hands in hers. "My dear girl. Words cannot describe how sorry I am."

Mary mustered a sad smile. "I'm sorry too, Granny," she whispered. "Please take care of Sybil and Edith. Someone has to."

"I will, my dear. Be strong, please. I know it seems hopeless now, but…" Violet Crawley said kindly.

"Goodbye, Granny," Mary smiled, stopping her from saying anything further. She could not hear anymore. She could not listen to promises of hope and redemption, of miracles and answered prayers and suggestions that somehow all that had happened to her could be reversed. She embraced her Granny instead, inhaled the familiar perfume that she wore, trying to commit it to memory.

Mary finally stepped back and Violet joined Edith and a sobbing Sybil. Mary glanced over at her Papa. He stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes pleading with her, as though he was begging for forgiveness.

Mary turned away without a word or a further glance at him. She stepped into the motor. Taylor closed the door behind her. She looked out the window, past her Granny's sad expression, past Sybil and Edith crying and holding each other, past her parents' sad expressions, past Carson's frowning face. She looked up at the high walls and spires of Downton Abbey, her home, the place that was to be her birthright and her kingdom for the rest of her life, until Cousin James and Cousin Patrick decided otherwise.

"The train station, Lady Mary?" Taylor asked quietly. "Bound for London?"

"Yes, Taylor," Mary answered without emotion. "Connecting in London for Manchester."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I am a patron of the hospital here," Lord Merton explained as they walked the hall. "It's the finest facility in North England."<p>

"I don't understand why we're here," Mary said, looking around at the staff and patients scurrying about. She was afraid to touch anything, and she cringed as she heard strange noises coming from all around her.

"You're to work here, Mary," Lord Merton said simply. "I'm putting you under the charge of the nursing coordinator. You won't be a full-fledged nurse, of course, but they can always use assistants, and after some time, you can take on more responsibility and training and the like."

"A nurse?" Mary asked incredulously. "But why?"

"Mary, I don't…" Lord Merton stopped himself, conscious of the people around them. They easily stood out. Mary's travelling dress was probably more expensive than many of the patients' monthly salaries. He ushered Mary briskly into a small room and closed the door behind him.

"Mary, do you understand the reality that you are now facing?" he asked, his voice stern and brusque. "What did you expect when you decided to come here?"

"I didn't expect to be living with your sister and having to work!" Mary huffed. "Godfather, despite what…despite what you may have heard, I am still a Lady of noble birth. Women of my position do not work. We do not need to…"

"Your position, Mary," Lord Merton interrupted her. "Has changed drastically in the last few weeks. You aren't considered a Lady anymore, at least not by all of London Society. There are no more privileges for you, Mary. No more parties, favours, invitations or allowances beyond what your Grandmother has ordered me to provide to you. Your life is no longer buying clothes or paying calls or doing the Season. You must learn to fend for yourself, and working here is the first step towards doing that."

"But how long must I be here?" Mary asked, still in shock at his words.

"How long, Mary?" Lord Merton asked in disbelief. "This isn't a sojourn or one of your brief charity visits. This is your life, now, Mary," he said slowly, enunciating each word. "My generosity has given you a place to live and your Grandmother has funded your living expenses for now, to a certain standard, but the life you used to maintain is over."

Mary blinked, her mind reeling.

"This can't be," Mary whispered. "When they told me I had to leave Downton, they wouldn't have known I would be living like this. Papa and Mama would never have agreed to…"

"Mary," Lord Merton sighed. "The word has already spread through London that you were sent to America. The explanation given was that upon hearing about your…indiscretion…the family has effectively disowned you. No one knows that you're here. No one wants to know that you're here. What you do with your life now is no longer their concern."

Mary gasped, then covered her mouth quickly.

"Now," Lord Merton continued. "We're going to go see the nursing coordinator about what position you'll start at. They'll probably want you to change out of those clothes. Do you understand?"

Mary swallowed. She felt like crying, screaming, retching, all at once. She raised her chin and took a deep breath, giving her Godfather the same stare she had given her Papa just that morning when she was banished from Downton Abbey.

"I understand perfectly, Lord Merton," she said defiantly.

Lord Merton could not hold her fierce gaze. He opened the door for her to walk out of the room first, then led her down the hall in silence.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, July 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary watched as Dr. Crawley smoked a cigar on the porch. After repeating his discussion with Lord Merton to everyone, he had refused questions for the moment and adjourned for a brief indulgence into what he called his worst vice. She watched as Matthew laughed and chatted jovially with his father. Although she was anxious to hear about this news, she wouldn't begrudge Dr. Crawley this moment. She turned to Isobel, who she caught staring intently at her husband.<p>

"Why doesn't Matthew smoke?" She asked with curiosity to break the silence. "I've always wanted to ask that. I'm used to seeing men take cigars together either after dinner or in the smoking room."

Isobel turned her attention towards her and smiled.

"This is Reginald's house, but he must abide by my rules," she said fondly. "We agreed long ago that he could only smoke outside the house, and never at the hospital. Once Matthew was born, he was adamant that Matthew never smoke. It is another one of his rebellious medical notions," she teased lightly.

"But surely Matthew must have been tempted? He must have friends who smoke, even professors at school when he was at Oxford?" Mary asked.

"It's possible, I suppose," Isobel nodded. "But I've never seen it. And you would know better than I what he likes to do in his spare time."

Mary blushed and looked away. She glanced at Isobel's smiling face and the two of them shared a comfortable laugh.

"Enough cheer for one evening, there is serious Crawley family business to discuss!" Dr. Crawley said in mock sternness as he and Matthew rejoined them. He resumed his seat at the head of the table.

"Now, we know what Lord Merton said, but what exactly is this Mr. Murray going to ask of you?" Matthew asked.

"Mary?" Dr. Crawley nodded.

"Murray is the Grantham family solicitor," Mary explained. "When James and Patrick disappeared, Lord Grantham probably ordered Murray to begin searching for the next heir."

"Which is you, apparently," Isobel said, looking at her husband.

"I must confess I have not been particularly vigilant about maintaining our family tree," Dr. Crawley smiled at his wife. "But it's no matter. It's always welcome news to find out you have other relatives out there."

"And that you're heir to an Earldom," Matthew smiled.

Mary's face remained passive.

"Hopefully Lord Grantham lives a long and healthy life and I won't need to take up the title any day soon, if ever," Dr. Crawley smiled.

Mary looked at him incredulously. "Don't you want to be an Earl?" she asked.

"Be an Earl? Heavens, no!" Dr. Crawley laughed. "Isobel, could you see me sitting in a country house, looking over my vast lands?"

"About as much as I could see you horse riding or fox hunting," Isobel smiled.

Matthew laughed. Mary looked at them all curiously.

"Well, we'll see what Mr. Murray wants of us. I can't see it being too earth shattering. Lord Grantham is still alive and well, so there's no need for me to become involved in the Estate," Dr. Crawley said.

Mary swallowed nervously.

Dr. Crawley stretched his fingers on the table.

"Well, that was certainly enough excitement for us," Isobel said cheerfully. "It's time that we retired. Matthew, Mrs. Bird has made a lovely lemon meringue just for Mary. Take care of her and we'll see you tomorrow."

Matthew and Mary both rose as Isobel took Dr. Crawley's hand and they left the room, giving Mary and Matthew a pleasant good night.

Matthew fetched the mouth watering dessert from the kitchen and brought out a generous slice.

"Matthew," Mary said. "You only brought one fork."

"Indeed I did," Matthew smiled, stabbing a piece of pie and bringing it to her lips.

"Matthew!" Mary laughed, before opening her mouth and taking the dessert from his fork.

"Mmm," Mary smiled. "Delicious. Did you tell your mother this was my favourite dessert?"

"I may have," Matthew smiled, taking a bite himself.

"So, the visit from Lord Merton aside, how was your day?" Matthew asked.

Mary smiled. "Quite interesting actually, I was with your father when he gave a woman the wonderful news that she is expecting a baby."

"That is brilliant," Matthew smiled, feeding her another forkful of pie. "Father would enjoy that. Was the woman happy?"

"Very," Mary smiled. "I've never seen a woman more radiant actually. She has been married for almost two years and beginning to think that she couldn't have babies."

Matthew chuckled. "It doesn't always follow that one gets pregnant from conjugal relations."

"That's what your father said," Mary replied. "I told him that I agree."

"You said that?" Matthew asked in surprise.

"Of course," Mary said airily. "Look at all the romps we've had and I'm not with child yet."

Matthew dropped his fork on the plate.

"I'm just teasing, darling," Mary laughed. "I didn't say anything at all."

Matthew rolled his eyes, and then looked at her earnestly.

"You do know, Mary," he said quietly. "If you were to…become pregnant, well, you know that I would…"

"Yes, I know, Matthew, I know," Mary said quickly, nodding to him in understanding.

"Anyway, this patient was rather interesting. Her husband works at Brownsfield Mill manufacturing aeroplanes – those flying contraptions," Mary continued.

"Really?" Matthew replied. "I wouldn't mind having a go in one of those."

"Matthew!" Mary scolded him. "Out of the question! Those monstrosities are dangerous."

"Oh, come now, Mary, it would be an adventure! You and I, flying among the stars, passing around the moon, just the two of us," he said with a devilish smile.

"You're mad," Mary laughed.

"Not at all!" he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "I'm quite used to flying, especially around you. You're my Venus, darling, my constant star, pulling me towards you like a never ending orbit."

"Stop it," Mary laughed. "Now you're talking nonsense. Besides, you haven't got the money to take me on such an escapade. It costs a small fortune to go up in one of those things even once."

"I don't?" Matthew challenged. "What makes you so sure that I don't?"

Mary smiled, shaking her head as she took another bite of pie.

"So," Matthew said, reaching out and taking her hand in his, lifting her fingers to his lips. "It seems that we're now cousins," he said, kissing each of her fingers.

"We're fourth cousins," Mary corrected him. "That's barely even a relation."

"Oh, come now, we share a formal connection, darling," Matthew smiled. "It's rather exciting news wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, I don't know," Mary frowned, taking her hand back from him. "If we are related, perhaps we will need to rethink our entire relationship. I don't know if I would be comfortable making love to my cousin."

"Now let's not do anything rash," Matthew said with alarm, taking her hand back. "We are only fourth cousins, after all," he said quickly. "Why, we're practically strangers."

Mary laughed as he resumed kissing her hand. "Perhaps you can convince me of what exactly I would be missing out on?" she suggested flirtatiously.

"Let's get you home, then," Matthew said.

They rose from the table and headed for the door. Matthew helped her into her coat and she took his arm as they stepped out into the night.

"Please give Mrs. Bird my compliments on the pie. It was lovely," Mary said.

"I will," Matthew nodded. "It was the second best dessert of the evening."

"Second best?" Mary looked at him quizzically as they walked down the street. "We've only had one dessert tonight, Matthew."

"We've only had one dessert so far, darling," Matthew smiled at her. "I expect I will be enjoying a different sweet delicacy very shortly."

Mary slapped his arm and laughed as he guided her towards Lady Philomena's house.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Lady Philomena Grey, Manchester, England, July 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Lady Philomena does enjoy the Season, doesn't she?" Matthew asked as he closed the door to Mary's room.<p>

"She likes to play her role," Mary said dismissively. "Going to London with all of her servants, occupying part of Lord Merton's house there, attending the parties and so on. It's a wonder I never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance before. We would have been in London at the same time."

"I'm sorry you had to hear your Godfather being so dismissive of you," Matthew said.

"Don't be," Mary shook her head. "I know where I stand with him. It's probably for the better. I know he is in contact with my family. Whether he is ordered to spy on me or not, I don't know, but the less time I spend with him, the better."

"Still, it is rather sad, how much has changed from what you told me your relationship used to be," Matthew said.

"Not all families are as solid as yours, darling," Mary said, looking down at the floor. "It's easy enough to play the role of doting Godfather or even protective father when the mood suits and circumstances are easy. Ultimately though, in my family, when problems arise, keeping up appearances with the right people is far more important than other things."

Matthew stepped to her and took her hands in his, squeezing them as he kissed her forehead.

"Do you miss it? London, I mean," Matthew asked quietly.

"No," Mary shook her head. "I thought that I would, at first, but I look back on the things that I used to do when I was there and what I used to enjoy and I don't find that I'm missing out on anything by not being there. It's strange, taking tea with certain people and going to various functions seemed so important before. I don't feel that way anymore."

"Did you spend months there for the Season as well?" Matthew asked.

"No," Mary shook her head. "Papa…Lord Grantham preferred to return back to Yorkshire once we had satisfied our commitments. Except for my Season, we'd usually only be there for a few weeks, not the month or two that Lady Philomenna seems to prefer."

"Well, I am grateful that she is so fastidious about convention," Matthew smirked.

"Why?" Mary asked in confusion.

Matthew's eyes narrowed and he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face away from him. Mary gasped as he kissed the side of her neck, his hands running down her arms and pulling her back against his chest.

"Because it means we have this entire house all to ourselves," he said playfully.

"Lady Philomena and the servants would not even notice if you were here," Mary said, drawing in a sharp breath as she felt his fingers move to the back of her dress. "They leave me alone. We don't even acknowledge each other if we pass in the hall."

"How terrible for you, to be denied such basic social contact," Matthew whispered in her ear as he slowly unbuttoned each of the clasps along her back.

"Do you think it important that I have such…contact, Matthew?" she asked as he slipped her dress off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

"Definitely," Matthew said, smiling at her low moan as he pulled the strings of her corset. "No one can go without proper interactions, darling. "

Mary swallowed, her pulse quickening as she felt her corset loosen and fall away to join her dress on the floor. Matthew's hands came forward and cupped her breasts, and she leaned back against him.

"And what sorts of interactions would you recommend?" she breathed, reaching behind her and finding his trousers. She smiled as she touched him and heard him groan in response.

"I would say something more meaningful than one word exchanges with the servants…" Matthew said, his voice choked as her fingers probed along his body knowingly.

"Should I seek out more stimulating conversation then?" she asked lightly, turning in his arms and deftly undoing his belt.

"Yes," Matthew replied, his hands moving to her waist and holding her close as she began working on the buttons of his shirt.

"What about flirting?" Mary continued, dropping his trousers to the ground and opening his shirt, her hands running across his firm chest.

"With the right man, yes, that could certainly count as…stimulating," Matthew answered, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Of course," Mary smiled, kissing the bare skin of his neck and shoulder as she pushed his shirt down his arms and yanked his cuffs away.

"Anything else that you think I need, Matthew?" she breathed huskily into his ear.

"All sorts of things," Matthew growled.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Mary kissed his neck and face as he lay her down and followed on top of her. Her knickers and stockings were soon removed and he pulled the blanket over them as she opened her arms to him. His lips found hers, his tongue sweeping across her mouth as his hands moved down her body, feeling the soft skin of her bottom before he spread her thighs apart and hooked her leg around his waist.

"Mary," he breathed between kisses, feeling her hips rise towards his. "Please."

"Yes, darling," she hissed, clutching his shoulders as he found her centre and pushed into her.

Matthew groaned into her neck as heat surrounded him. He moved slowly at first, taking his cue from her own movements, determined to prolong her pleasure as long as possible. She had been distracted by her Godfather's visit tonight, and he wanted to be gentle with her, to focus her attention on him, on them, and block out the rest of the world.

"Matthew," she gasped, sliding her hands down his back and urging him to move faster. Delicious friction spread between their bodies and she held on to him, feeling his weight and warmth covering her. She did not think about the impending visit of her father's lawyer, her exile, or the repercussions of Matthew being now part of the Grantham line. All that existed was her and him and the pleasure that exploded through her body and her cries that drove him to join her soon after.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, July 1912**_

* * *

><p>Mary stepped outside into the warm sunshine and smiled. She had long ago learned not to count her blessings, but she could not help but feel quite fortunate just the same. Lady Philomena and her household were in London for the Season, so once again she was happily alone in the house. With free rein over the manor, she took the opportunity that morning to practice her baking, with a particular objective in mind. As Mary walked in the sunshine, it was hard for her not to shake her head at how she took pride in such a menial task that her old self would never have paid a thought to a few short years ago. For today she had baked her very first loaf of bread, her first three in fact, and she felt it was a marvelous accomplishment. Baking was shockingly fun. Before, she found it domestic and common and a task for Mrs. Patmore, not her. However, now, after numerous lessons from Isobel and Mrs. Bird, Mary felt comfortable in the kitchen and that she was doing something productive and real, rather than an activity below her station.<p>

This delectable treat tucked away safely in her basket was something she had created with her own hands, a symbol of her new independence and self-reliance. Mary hoped it would be a nice surprise for Dr. Crawley – an early birthday present of sorts. The idea had come to her rather out of the blue, and she always enjoyed a plan of hers coming to fruition. She walked briskly through Whitworth Park, smirking at the rambunctious children and their amused parents. The familiar walk to the hospital on Oxford Street was comfortable and pleasant, and Mary hoped she could arrive before the bread became cold.

She was only steps away from the large gothic building of the Royal Infirmary when her eyes widened and she stopped in her tracks. She ducked behind a large oak tree and remained still. Peeking around slowly, she watched Mr. Murray as he exited the hospital, his attention fixed on his pocket watch. The Grantham Family solicitor almost collided with a young mother pushing a pram. He apologized and tipped his hat and continued down the lane in the opposite direction. Mary watched him until he disappeared into a taxi down the street. She did not emerge from her hiding place until she was sure he was gone and her path would not cross with his. She willed herself to remain calm and to not let the sight of her family's lawyer affect her pleasant mood. She knew he was coming, of course. Lord Merton had notified Dr. Crawley just the other night of the lawyer's expected arrival. And yet, seeing Murray in the flesh in Manchester, in _her _city, at _her _hospital, caused her to become agitated and cross. He did not belong here. Any link to Downton Abbey did not belong here. Mary felt as though her family's claws were reaching out towards her across the country, hoping to ensnare her once again, and Matthew and his parents along with her. Mary was not one to plead with fate, and yet she felt this was a cruel twist in the life she now had. Her life at Downton Abbey was over with, finished. She had come too far to be pulled back now.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>Lord Merton escorted Mary down the hall and past numerous people sitting in the waiting area. The place felt strange and unfamiliar. It was much bigger than the cottage hospital in Downton Village, and moreover she never visited hospitals to begin with. Dr. Clarkson always came to the house whenever he was needed. Truthfully, Mary was not one to bother with doctors. She saw it as a form of weakness, to go running off to the old man for some cure whenever she had an itchy throat or a scrape from riding. Lady Mary Crawley did not ask for help. Lady Mary Crawley was a storm braver.<p>

"I must be going," Lord Merton said distractedly. "You can just go on down this hall to that counter over there, Mary. Ask for Cassandra, she is expecting you."

She felt her temper rise at this extraordinarily brazen and contemptuous villainy. To take her in, assure her that he would step in where her parents would not and guard her, only to find out that he was imprisoning her away from his own home and getting her a job of all things! Her Godfather might as well of sold her to the circus.

"Well," Lord Merton said finally. "Good day, Mary."

He turned and walked briskly out of the hospital. Mary did not bother watching him go, her eyes fixed on the counter down the hall and the bustle of activity surrounding it. So many questions filtered through her mind, but she slowly realized that there were no answers that would appease her at the moment. She needed time to absorb the shocking events of the past days. She had not even been in Manchester for a full day and already her world was spinning. The truth however, was that Lord Merton was at least correct in that she had little to no options, at least for the moment. It was better to bide her time for now, go along with this harsh exile and try and make the most of it. She walked over to the counter, holding her head high. Regardless of what all of London Society thought of her, Lady Mary Crawley was not going to cower in front of a nurse.

Eventually, she found Cassandra, the nursing coordinator. She was a very tall, very thin and very unpleasant woman. Her critical gaze pierced through the stylish clothing Mary was wearing. She tried not to fidget. After all, the gaze of one critic was nothing compared to the hundreds of eyes that had assessed her during the Season, and Mary had passed that exam with flying colours, perhaps a little too successfully, she now thought. Mary felt the tendrils of her coiffure bun tickle her neck. Her hair was unraveling following the long train ride and the shock of what awaited her in Manchester, and she felt ashamed at her appearance. She had tried to fix it herself as Lady Grey's maid had been unavailable to assist her, however her attempt did not have the same firm hold as Anna's usual work. It was another reminder of how far she had fallen in such a brief time.

"You're the new one, aren't you? Brought here by our patron, Lord Merton? You will need to either change or pinup your trailing skirt," Cassandra said with disdain, glancing at Mary, then looking away even as she continued snarling at her. "This is not afternoon-tea at Marlborough House."

Mary was silent at the comment. It was uncouth. This woman had seen her for all of five seconds and was already acting horribly vindictive. She was clearly jealous, Mary decided. Apparently even the working class was not above being petty and callous.

"And in the future, a simple pompadour for your hair will do. There is no one to impress here with Grecian knots, even if they are fashionable. If I see your hair down even briefly, I'll slap a hair net on you from the supply room," Cassandra said, looking over a clipboard.

Mary swallowed the angry retort that was waiting to be unleashed.

Cassandra held out a folded apron of muslin cloth. "This should always be worn over your simple attire. You're an assistant, not a nurse, and you will dress and behave as such so no one mistakes you for someone who actually knows what she is doing."

When Mary reached for the item, she realized her hands were shaking, but she snatched the apron and remained silent, her lips pursed and her eyes still surprisingly dry. This woman had shown Mary more audacity than could be believed, but then Mary had grown used to the unimaginable happening to her lately. After Mary had pinned up her skirt, having no other clothes to change into, she started on her first task – counting out pills in the store room for various patients' dosages.

The activity was not enough of a mental challenge to distract her from the heartache of the last twenty-four hours. She couldn't help but see her family lined up in front of Downton Abbey just that morning as she was banished from her home. Mary thought of Sybil's tears, her sweet little sister; always so faithful. Even Edith and Granny were kind enough to express their incredulity at what had befallen her. But when her thoughts turned to her parents, she felt nothing but rage.

Lost in her sudden anger, Mary clumsily dropped the bottle she was pouring from and pills spread across the floor. She bit back her tears as she crouched to retrieve the pills. Was it really a short time ago that she was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Grantham – destined to become Countess of one of the grandest Estates in Yorkshire? Now, here she was, squatting like a lowly kitchen maid and picking up pills off the floor. It would be so easy to give in and cry now, alone in this storeroom surrounded by a hospital full of strangers. She took several deep breaths as she collected the pills. No. She clung to the shreds of her fading resolve. Lady Mary Crawley would refuse to break until the bitter end.

She didn't hear the footsteps, but suddenly large polished black shoes were in her view. Mary looked up and saw a tall man standing over her. He wore a white lab coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. His very presence exuded authority, and he was clearly not just a doctor, but a high ranking member of the hospital surely. In any event, he was far above her in every way. Mary feared she was in for another lecture, and was not sure her composure could endure it. However, this grey-haired man smiled at her kindly, his bearded face compassionate as he bent down.

"Here, let me help you. They can be slippery little things, can't they?" he said warmly.

Mary only nodded her skin flushing as she searched his face for some hidden agenda or secret motive. Perhaps he was waiting for her to agree so he could chastise her for that as well?

"I'm Dr. Crawley," he said pleasantly. "Is this your first day?"

Mary paused as she heard his last name. Perhaps she had misheard him? Was this a ridiculous joke, for her to come all the way to Manchester and within hours of her arrival be greeted by someone with her own family name? And yet, Mary was weary of being suspicious and defensive. The doctor's tone of voice was calm and soothing, no doubt honed from dealing with anxious patients over his career. It was the first moment of equanimity she had experienced all day.

"It's nice to meet you, Doctor," she said quietly. "Yes, it's my first day. Thank you for your help." Mary retrieved the last fallen pill and stood up.

"I suspect you've been given this task by our lovely nursing coordinator. Don't be afraid of Cassandra. Her bark is worse than her bite," he said conspiratorially.

Mary smiled at his frankness. A kind man named Crawley? It still seemed absurd.

"Thank you," she said as he placed the pills he had retrieved for her into the tray in her hands.

"You're welcome," Dr. Crawley nodded. "Well, as you'll be working here, I should ask you…oh, I'm sorry. I don't know your name, yet."

"I'm Lady Mary Crawley," she said and shook his offered hand.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he repeated kindly. "How strange. I thought I knew everyone with our family name in Manchester."

"I've just arrived," Mary said, smiling politely to hide her apprehension. Now was not the time to offer explanations on exactly _why_ she was in Manchester.

"I don't actually have any family here," she said guardedly.

"One of life's peculiar coincidences, then," Dr. Crawley smiled. "A bit of advice, Lady Mary. It may do you well to point out to others that you aren't related to me. I have been known to run afoul of more than my share of hospital rules. I wouldn't want my reputation to be a stain upon you," he laughed.

Mary could not help but smile. This man was remarkably down to earth and modest, despite being superior to someone in her position. To have a real conversation with a genuine person was a pleasure that Mary now realized she had been lacking for far too long.

"Well, as I was going to ask you, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley continued with enthusiasm, "Do you know of Madam Curie?"

All Mary could do was shake her head at this very strange question, although she was very intrigued. Anything to keep talking to Dr. Crawley and not go back to counting those damn pills was a welcome distraction.

"Mark my words, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley said animatedly. "Madam Curie is going to win the Nobel Prize this year. And that will anger Cassandra greatly, for she had thought to be the first woman for such an award. So, whenever she causes you any difficulty, simply think about the disappointed look on her face when she is passed by."

Not just a smile, but a true laugh filtered from Mary at these jesting words. It was such a lighthearted tease, with no malice. And from her encounter with Cassandra she could see the merit in Dr. Crawley's words.

"There now," Dr. Crawley said. "That's better," he said noticing the change in her disposition.

"Reginald," a sharp but affectionate voice called from across the hospital hall, interrupting their conversation. "There you are. Come along now, Matthew is waiting."

Mary turned and saw a middle aged woman standing outside the store room, smiling kindly despite her previous firm tone to Dr. Crawley. Dr. Crawley stepped out into the hall and smiled back at her. This must be his wife, Mary thought, and she decided that they made a good pair. She idly wondered who was this _Matthew_ that the woman referred to?

"Your timing is impeccable, my dear," Dr. Crawley said fondly.

"Lady Mary," he said, gently urging Mary to come over to the smiling woman. "Please meet my wife, Isobel. She is a senior nurse here at the hospital. Isobel, Lady Mary Crawley, our newest nurse's assistant."

"Lady Mary," Isobel nodded. "A newfound relation of ours?"

"Hello Mrs. Crawley," Mary nodded in reply. "No, I'm afraid not. We seem to share a name, is all."

"How interesting," Isobel smiled. "And what are you up to for today?"

Mary was somewhat surprised by the inquiry. Did this woman actually care what she was up to?

"Erm, well the nursing coordinator has given me a task in the storeroom, and I'm to report to her once I'm finished," Mary said, trying not to hide the disdain in her voice.

"Yes, Lady Mary is under the supervision of Cassandra, apparently. You would think the woman would realize that we require nurse's assistants of our own to…" Dr. Crawley suddenly grinned widely.

"Oh, Reggie," Isobel shook her head with amusement. "What are you playing at now?"

"Darling," he said taking his wife's hand, his voice warm and charming. "This young woman needs to be rescued from Cassandra's stockade and it seems to me that our department is woefully understaffed. Are you willing to take charge of her if I can arrange it?"

Isobel's eyebrows rose at the challenge. "Of course," she said confidently and without delay to her husband.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't have any experience at all working with…" Mary interjected.

"Well you won't get any experience unless you work at it," Isobel noted. "I'll teach you all that you need to know, Lady Mary." Isobel looked curiously at Mary's formal dress and pinned up skirt. "That is, if you are willing. Are you willing?"

Mary still had not grasped the idea that she would have to work at all, let alone on a regular basis. However, it was obvious that spending time with Isobel and Dr. Crawley was far more preferable than bearing the terror of Cassandra.

"Yes," Mary said boldly.

"Excellent! That's the spirit, Lady Mary," Dr. Crawley said with admiration. "It is all settled then."

"What is all settled, exactly?" a bemused voice called.

Mary turned to identify this new speaker. Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. She recovered quickly and closed her mouth into a neutral expression, her eyes focused on the sight before her. The speaker was a young man with blond hair and blue eyes, who smiled as he approached them. The resemblance to Dr. Crawley was apparent, though his face was of course younger and more defined. Mary admired his finely tailored clothing, but it was the crooked grin on his face that truly intrigued her. And his eyes. They were a brighter blue than Mary had ever seen. And they seemed to dance, first moving from his father, then to his mother, before resting on Mary. He smirked at her and she found herself smiling back.

"Never you mind, my boy," Dr. Crawley said with a smile. He paused as Matthew's gaze seemed fixed on Mary.

"Matthew," Dr. Crawley said firmly, drawing his attention finally. "This is Lady Mary Crawley; she is a new nurse's assistant and will be working with your mother."

"Lady Mary," Matthew said gently. He offered her his hand, palm up. Mary was taken off guard by the gesture, so common and expected in her old world, but out of place in this one. Still, she placed her hand in his automatically, and swallowed slightly as his eyes returned to her, his touch lingering for a moment before finally releasing her fingers.

"Hello," Mary replied, her voice seeming to hitch unexpectedly. "We're not related. Your parents both asked me that," she said quickly, trying to use conversation to shield herself from his gaze and to distract her from the fluttering in her stomach.

"I'm glad that's settled, then," Matthew smiled. "Erm, I apologize for my disheveled appearance, Lady Mary," he continued, somewhat nervously. "It's rather cold outside and I'm afraid I was at the mercy of the wind."

"I don't find you disheveled at all," Mary replied. She looked down and pursed her lips, her eyes widening briefly in shock at what she had just said to a man she had just met.

"Lady Mary was working with Cassandra," Dr. Crawley said, accepting the coat that his wife offered him. "When I learned that she is a Crawley; naturally I had to save her from such a horrible fate."

"You're in good hands, Lady Mary," Matthew smirked. "Although Mother can be just as much a taskmaster, I assure you. At least she smiles from time to time though."

Mary carefully gave him a demure smile of acknowledgment. She summoned all of her coquettish tricks to not reveal too much to this man. She wondered briefly why it didn't seem so easy to her now, how she didn't quite know how to behave.

"I am always fair with those under my wing," Isobel retorted. "Well, tomorrow then, Lady Mary," she continued. "I'll meet you at the west wing partition of the hospital at eight o'clock in the morning and we'll begin your training."

Isobel took Dr. Crawley's arm and Dr. Crawley tipped his hat to Mary as he put it on. Mary nodded in reply. She did not trust herself to speak in Matthew's presence. She kept herself calm as the family moved towards the exit, but she could not stop herself from blinking in surprise when Matthew suddenly stopped, turned around and walked back towards her.

"I'm sorry, Lady Mary," he said with a smile. "I forgot to say goodbye to you. I apologize for being so rude."

Mary's pulse was strangely quick. "That's all right," she said warmly. "And please, Matthew, call me Mary."

"Very well, Mary," Matthew said, his face brightening. "I hope that you don't mind, or think me too forward, but I expect I'll be seeing more of you in the future. I come by the hospital most afternoons on my way home from work."

"Of course I don't mind," Mary replied, silently berating herself for sounding so enthusiastic. What was wrong with her? She needed to say something else right away.

"Are you also a doctor?" she asked.

"No, I'm not, much to my parents' dismay," Matthew laughed. "I'm a lawyer. My office is a few minutes away and the hospital is on the way to our house."

"A lawyer. So, you enjoy arguing, then?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrow at him. She kept her eyes on his. She wasn't one to shy away from conversation, and this one was becoming quite pleasant.

"I admit that I do, but only for a proper reason. I prefer a good argument to a personal attack," Matthew said.

"Many people have great difficulty telling the difference," Mary noted.

"That's true, especially among the barristers in this city," Matthew chuckled.

"Anyway, I shall not keep you from your duties. I would continue this conversation, but my parents are probably preparing a scolding for me as we speak," he said with a warm smile.

Mary smiled at him.

"Goodbye, Mary. It was…a pleasure meeting you," Matthew nodded.

"Goodbye, Matthew," Mary answered simply. She was unable to stop smiling.

He backed away from her for several paces before he finally turned and rejoined his parents outside. Mary turned and went back to the storeroom. When Cassandra came to fetch her later for another task, Mary followed along. She absorbed the instructions and easily ignored the disdain and condescension in the woman's voice. Instead, Mary counted the hours until her shift would end, knowing that her deliverance from this woman was close at hand and a new day would dawn tomorrow.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Law Office of Jennings and Norman, Manchester, England, July 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Mr. Crawley, a Lady Mary is here to see you," Matthew's secretary announced.<p>

"Thank you," Matthew said, rising from his desk as Mary came into his office.

"If it isn't my favourite client," Matthew said quietly, smirking at her.

"We'll need to come up with what the exact services are that you are providing for me to justify all of these visits," Mary smiled. "I doubt your clients come by your office this often."

"The staff don't ask questions and don't remember anything beyond what they are supposed to. That's the first rule of working in a law office. As for the services I am providing for you, well, I can think of all sorts of things," Matthew said.

"Matthew!" Mary hissed, glancing back at the closed door nervously. She could not help but smile as she turned back to him and his playful expression.

"It's your day off. What brings you by?" he asked.

"I went to the hospital to surprise your father with an early birthday present," Mary explained, placing her basket on his desk. "But, I just missed him by the time that I arrived. So, I decided to come see you instead."

"Always second best to Papa," Matthew joked as he lifted the cover of the basket and smiled at the contents.

"Raisin bread. Mary, he'll love it. It smells delicious," he said proudly.

"Go ahead and let me know what you think," Mary smiled. "I have another at home. I'll bring it over this evening."

Matthew took a bite of the soft bread and smiled.

"Mary this is the best one yet," he said genuinely. "I'd have a hard time telling it apart from Mrs. Bird's."

"Don't tell her that or you'll be eating porridge for a week," Mary teased.

Matthew devoured another slice, and then looked up. Mary was looking down at her hands.

"What is it, darling?" he frowned.

Mary sighed. She sometimes didn't like how Matthew could read her so easily, or that he was so quick to ask her how she was doing.

"I saw Murray today," she said quietly.

"You did?" Matthew said in concern. "How did that go?"

"I didn't speak with him," she said. "I imagine I saw him as he was leaving his meeting with your father."

"Then we'll hear all about it at dinner," Matthew concluded. "And that also means there's no reason to think or talk about it now," he said pointedly.

Mary looked up and smiled gratefully.

"Well then, what shall we discuss?" Mary asked, rising from the chair and walking around his desk towards him.

Matthew turned in his chair to face her as she came around. He swallowed.

"We could talk about whatever you like, Mary," Matthew said quietly.

"Do you have any idea about what's on my mind at the moment, Matthew?" she asked, leaning over and placing her hands on his shoulders.

"I imagine your thoughts are very close to mine right now," Matthew whispered, his hands running along her arms.

"Shall we ring your secretary and instruct her that you aren't to be disturbed?" Mary whispered, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.

"Mary I don't think that the furniture in my office is particularly suited for our needs," Matthew replied, trying desperately to stop himself from acting on the rather scandalous ideas that were flying through his mind.

"They seemed to work perfectly fine the other night, darling," Mary drawled. "I'm sure they would be fine this time around, provided we are creative enough."

"Oh God, Mary," Matthew gasped as the vivid memory came forth. "If only…"

"If only you didn't have an appointment in several minutes," Mary smiled, kissing him then standing back.

"You knew that? And you still teased me!" Matthew sighed.

"Your secretary warned me that your time was short," Mary smiled.

"You've ruined my ability to concentrate for the rest of the day, you know," Matthew shook his head.

"Well, perhaps I'll give you something to focus on after dinner tonight?" Mary said playfully.

"That isn't helping," Matthew growled, rising from his chair and escorting her to the door. "But I will hold you to that promise."

Mary gave him a quick kiss before he opened the door.

"Until tonight then," he said. "I'll come get you when I'm done here. And Mary, please try and enjoy your day off."

"I will. Thank you, darling." She leaned up and kissed him again before she quietly left his office.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, July 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Delicious!" Dr. Crawley smiled, taking a bite of his small slice of raisin bread. "Thank you, Mary. This is lovely."<p>

"I had a good teacher," Mary smiled, looking at Isobel.

"Nonsense," Isobel smiled in return. "Once we were able to get her manicured fingers to really pound the dough with some purpose, I knew she'd be just fine. You have a talent for this, Mary."

"Oh, I don't know," Mary said, looking down at her plate and blushing slightly.

"Well, I agree with Mother," Matthew smiled. "Mary has all manner of rage that can be taken out in her baking. This should be therapeutic," he teased.

"Perhaps if some people did not vex me so," Mary replied, smirking at Matthew.

"Right then, well I suppose you're all curious about Mr. Murray's visit today," Dr. Crawley said, taking a sip of water.

"Reggie, perhaps now is not the time," Isobel began, glancing at Mary.

"It's all right," Mary said, thanking Matthew's mother for her understanding. "I want to know what he told you."

"Well, not much of anything actually, but I think it was good news for now. He confirmed that our families are distantly related. I'm the third cousin of the Earl of Grantham. However, the Earl hasn't given up on James or Patrick Crawley having survived the Titanic disaster. He's got private investigators in Canada and New York looking for them now," Dr. Crawley said.

"Of course, he does," Mary said petulantly, stabbing her bread with a fork.

"So, if you aren't conclusively the heir, why bother sending Murray here?" Matthew asked.

"I can't say," Dr. Crawley answered. "Not all lawyers are like you my boy," he teased. "Murray had an inordinate amount of personal questions about my work at the hospital, about your Mother and about you, Matthew."

Dr. Crawley sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Lord Gratham's lawyer also asked about my wife's side of the family, before he then inquired about how often we go to London whether we do the Season, that type of thing. I must say at times I felt as if I were being interrogated."

"How odd," Isobel commented.

"It's not surprising," Mary finally said, unable to hold back her anger. "Lord Grantham sent Murray here to evaluate you. He wants to know who you are and most importantly, who knows you and how you act and behave in Society. He needs to know what he's dealing with and how much he needs to change you to suit his purposes."

Mary closed her eyes briefly and frowned. She hated showing bitterness or cynicism in front of Matthew's family. There were benefits to being cold and calculating sometimes. She could predict her Papa's motives blindfolded.

"What's important is that it means nothing to us for the moment," Dr. Crawley said. "For now, while the investigation continues for James and Patrick, nothing changes."

"Did Mr. Murray say he would be back in touch?" Matthew asked.

"Yes," Dr. Crawley said. "And hopefully we won't need to hear from him for a very long time."

Mary suppressed a sigh and looked away.

"Mary," Isobel said patiently. "We're done here. You had a rather full day today. Why don't you go lie down upstairs? Reggie and I will be retiring soon, anyway."

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly," Mary said, her eyes wide in alarm. "We should go through to the parlour. We can have drinks and talk and…"

"Mary, I can clearly see that you're worn out, and truthfully, so am I," Isobel said with a smile. "Matthew, your bed is presentable is it not?"

"Of course, Mother," Matthew replied. "I'm not at university anymore."

"Excellent," Isobel said. "Go on, Mary. This is your senior nurse talking. Go up and lay down."

"Best to humour her," Dr. Crawley said mischievously. "Otherwise she'll keep bringing it up until you finally capitulate."

"All right," Mary nodded gratefully, her composure slipping away from her. "I'm sure I'll be fine if I just take a moment."

She rose and quickly left the dining room, walking upstairs to Matthew's bedroom. She needed to get inside and close the door before she broke down. She did not want Matthew's parents to hear her sobbing. She had not shed any tears of sadness since her arrival in Manchester, but the return of her family these past few days had worn on her heavily.

Mary was grateful when she reached Matthew's bedroom and ducked inside. The blankets had Matthew's scent and as she collapsed upon them, she shut her eyes tight, allowing his presence to soothe the fury inside of her, the tears spilling freely as she stifled her sobs.

"I should go make sure she's all right," Matthew frowned, looking to the doorway.

"Your father can go," Isobel said gently.

"Perhaps its better if Matthew…" Dr. Crawley responded.

"Go and talk to her, Reggie," Isobel ordered. "You're the heir, and you are the one who met with Murray today. Matthew will be up later. Right now, she needs reassurance from you that nothing will change."

"Very well, I'm going," Dr. Crawley said smiling wanly at his wife, then his son, before rising from the table.

Matthew watched his father leave the dining room. He turned to his mother with a confused expression.

"Just give him a few moments, Matthew," Isobel nodded. "She needs you, but she needs to hear what your father has to say first."

There was a timid knock on the door and Mary turned over. As the door opened, she sat up and struggled to compose herself.

"Dr. Crawley!" she said in surprise. "I thought it was Matthew."

"He'll be up later," Dr. Crawley said, crossing the room and sitting down in Matthew's desk chair beside the bed. Mary looked at him nervously.

"Mary," he began slowly. "I'm not leaving Manchester. Neither is Matthew. And neither are you. I can only imagine what this news and Mr. Murray's visit have reminded you of, but please do not let it affect you so."

Mary swallowed, trying to keep her tears and anger under control. She hated showing weakness in front of Dr. Crawley. He had already seen her in several weak moments as it was.

"I'm not worried," Mary said quietly. "But it's hard to see Murray and not think about all he represents, or more specifically, _who_ he represents."

"He seemed nice enough, actually," Dr. Crawley noted. "Although I don't think he liked Manchester, so that biased my feelings towards him."

"He does his job," Mary spat. "It's his employer that I don't like."

"But surely the reminder of your family is nothing new?" Dr. Crawley asked cautiously. "We all can tolerate Murray's presence and go back to our normal lives now, can't we?"

"Yes, but…oh, you'll think me foolish," Mary sighed.

"Never," Dr. Crawley said firmly.

"It's just that I've worked so very hard, you know?" Mary said. "I came here with nothing and thanks to all of you, I feel as if I've built something for myself here, something of my own, something that my family didn't give to me, and if I never heard the name Grantham ever again I would be quite happy."

"And now that it appears that we're distantly related, you think you're going to lose all of that?" Dr. Crawley asked, trying to understand.

"Possibly," Mary replied. "But more importantly, I just don't want my family to hurt you the way that they hurt me."

"Mary," Dr. Crawley smiled. "That won't happen. As of now, we're related in name only. Who knows? Your father is actually younger than I am. Lord Grantham may outlive me, and so there will never be any reason for me to concern myself with any of them."

Mary sighed, unconvinced.

"Besides, maybe Mr. Murray will report back to the Earl that I was terribly uncouth. Maybe he'll say that I love an industrial town that he finds unclean, and my wife and son are unsettlingly modern. That will make him disown me entirely and search for another heir."

Mary laughed, shaking her head.

"Thank you," she said genuinely.

"Always, Mary," Dr. Crawley smiled, nodding to her. "Your well being is of utmost importance to Matthew, and so it is of utmost importance to Isobel and I also."

Mary nodded in understanding.

"You'd better send your son up. You know he doesn't like to feel left out," Mary teased.

"He gets his petulant streak from me, I'm afraid," Dr. Crawley laughed. "I've passed on only my finest qualities. Good night, Mary."

"Good night," she nodded as Matthew's father left the room.

There was only a brief pause before another knock was heard on the door.

"Mary?" Matthew asked quietly and he came into his darkened room.

"Darling," Mary smiled. "Come lay with me."

"Contain yourself, woman, please! My parents are right down the hall," Matthew scolded her playfully as he approached the bed.

"Just lie down," Mary rolled her eyes.

Smiling, Matthew lay down next to her and reached out his arm. Mary automatically took her usual place, nestled in the crook of his arm and shoulder, her hand across his chest.

"What if James and Patrick aren't found and your father has them declared dead?" Matthew asked after a long pause.

"They're alive," Mary said defiantly. "They probably shoved their way past all the women and children so they could commandeer one of the lifeboats," she huffed. "They'll be running amok across New York all summer, and then return triumphantly to England in the fall to receive adulations over their miraculous survival."

"Mary," Matthew said quietly.

"They're alive, Matthew," Mary replied firmly.

"But if they're not," Matthew pressed on. "Then Papa will be the sole remaining heir."

"If that happens then Lord Grantham will push him to go to Downton," Mary said resignedly. "He'll want to get his hooks in him as soon as possible, and will pester him until he goes there."

"Father won't leave Manchester," Matthew replied. "He'll say there's no need while the Earl is still alive. He has no stomach or desire for Estate management; he doesn't even like the politics of the hospital board! Even if your Papa summoned him, he'd probably send me in his place."

"You at Downton?" Mary laughed. "Now that would be a sight, but I would never permit it."

"Why?" Matthew asked, somewhat hurt by her implication. "Our lives can't be that different!"

Mary raised her head and looked at him lovingly. "Downton and my family have a way of changing people," she said softly. "And I won't let them change you, or your father."

Matthew kissed her in understanding.

"Besides," Mary continued. "Darling, you would never go either."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

"Would you give up your law practice?

"No."

"Would you leave your parents here to go off to Yorkshire by yourself for who knows how long?"

"No."

"Could you see yourself dealing with tenant farmers and doing the Season? Going on hunts and hosting balls and parties?" Mary laughed.

"No," Matthew chuckled.

"Then that settles it," she declared.

Matthew tightened his embrace around her body.

"I wouldn't want to do any of those things, Mary," he said. "But I would. I would do all of them and more quite gladly, if it meant I could restore you to your proper place, to give you the life that you had to give up."

"Matthew," Mary sighed.

"I told you I would find a way to make things right, Mary," Matthew declared. "This may be that opportunity."

"Everything is already right in my world," Mary said fiercely, looking at him. "That part of my life is over, and good riddance to it. Don't you think it's obvious why Murray never visited Lord Merton while he was here, or came by Lady Philomena's home? Lord Grantham isn't looking for me, Matthew. He may be very interested in your father, but he has no interest in bringing me back. And truthfully, I have no interest in going. I know what a real family is now, and I don't need them."

"But Mary, what about your sisters? You still write to Sybil. I know that you miss them."

"I do," Mary admitted. "I even miss Edith, as horrible as she can be. And Granny. Maybe someday I'll see them again. But as for the rest of them, they aren't thinking of me, and I'm not thinking of them."

"I wouldn't go to Downton without you," Matthew whispered.

"We'll never have to deal with that," Mary said firmly, leaning up and kissing him. "We're where we belong, Matthew. Here, together."

He looked at her for a long moment, her eyes pleading with him to relent, while his heart urged him to go forth and take up her cause.

"All right," he said finally, and he kissed her, then held her close to him, massaging her back as he listened to her drift off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, August 1912**_

* * *

><p>Mary sighed as she glanced around the empty dressing room. The day shift was done and she had once again lingered a bit to ensure she was the last to change and leave. While none of the nurses asked her any questions or even attempted to make conversation, the less people knew about her, the better, and so an empty dressing room suited her purposes. She removed her apron and hung it in her locker, then changed her shirt and shoes. It had been another long day, and yet the work did oddly satisfy her. Mary was assigned to Dr. Edgar today, and while he wasn't Dr. Crawley, he was talented. He was young, curious and most importantly, humble. He saw each patient as an opportunity to learn and improve himself, and so Mary learned quite a bit as well, as he had an endearing habit of talking through each case, as though he were giving himself encouragement and solving the problem out loud at the same time. If she had a criticism of the young doctor, it was that he smiled too much, especially in her direction. Though her colleagues would have likely enjoyed the attention, Mary kept looking away and avoiding his gaze. She was well aware when a man fancied her, even if it was only a casual interest. Thankfully, Dr. Edgar was not reckless enough to engage her in conversation outside of giving her instructions, thereby sparing her what would surely be an awkward topic.<p>

As she gathered her light jacket and matching hat, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Another benefit of changing back into her real clothes with no one else around was being able to avoid curious glances. Her attire was clearly more expensive than those worn by any of the other nurses and staff at the hospital, particularly today as she was dressing up for dinner. She remembered when Matthew had bought her this particular outfit, forcing her to identify the pieces that she liked in the boutique he took her to, then despite her quiet protests, waving over a store clerk and having the lot wrapped up. Though she constantly implored him that they needed to be discreet, when he was feeling amorous, he tended to get a bit out of control.

Checking her reflection one last time in the mirror, she turned to leave. They were meeting in a nearby park before heading on to Trafford Restaurant at the Midland Hotel for dinner. While typically she enjoyed dining with his parents, she was looking forward to a private meal for just the two of them tonight. With Lady Philomena still in London, and Dr. Crawley and Isobel visiting relatives in the country, it was a rare occasion where they were all alone together in Manchester with no commitments or duties to attend to.

As Mary walked outside the dressing room, the large doors to the hospital burst open and a calamity of noise rang out as a small crowd of people came running in. Mary took in the scene as though she were frozen, her gasp strangled and caught in her throat as her eyes widened. A man dressed as a footman was carrying a young woman in his arms, while an older woman was pushing her way past nurses and patients to get to the admitting desk. The young woman's eyes were closed and her head hung loosely against the footman's arm. Her summer frock was ripped, and Mary could see blood on her dress, her slip and her legs. The older woman was gesticulating frantically, her loud voice carrying across the room. Mary's stomach lurched. The young woman reminded Mary of Sybil in appearance; she had the same gentle face and darkish hair.

Two nurses and an orderly came forward to meet the group. They were ushered into an examination room next to where Mary was standing. The young woman was laid out on the table while the familiar entreaties were made for the older woman to calm down.

"No!" she yelled, her eyes wide and her arms flailing in hysteria. "I will not calm down!"

Dr. Edgar arrived first. He had difficulty maneuvering around the older woman, who was firing questions and reciting facts in frantic bursts. The young physician was clearly shocked. His background was in treating patients in the wards, not in dealing with emergencies. For a time he stood transfixed, unsure how to proceed, his polite 'excuse me' completely disregarded.

"Someone did this to my sister!" The older woman yelled violently. "You can tell, can't you? When you see, when you see what's happened to her, you'll know! I want the police here! I want them to find whoever did this!"

Two more orderlies and another nurse rushed past Mary and into the room. They ushered the older woman aside to allow Dr. Edgar to examine her sister. The older woman brought the volume of her voice down from a shout to a growl, repeating herself over and over as she stood back and surveyed the scene.

Before another nurse pulled the curtain around the examination area, Mary saw Dr. Edgar pull back the young woman's torn skirt.

Her thighs were covered in blood.

Mary's hand flew to her mouth and she scampered back into the dressing room. She walked briskly to the small lavatory as she felt the bile rise up from her stomach. She reached the sink just in time as she retched, blinking furiously. She ran the water and rinsed her mouth. Looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, Mary took deep breaths to calm herself. As an assistant, she did not deal with trauma cases. By the time she saw patients, they were usually stitched up, cleaned, and on their way to recovery. There was the odd glimpse of blood or a minor cut or scrape. Mary was not deterred by the sight of blood. She had seen plenty of it growing up. Watching a foal being born in the stables. Seeing birds cut up and foxes skinned after a hunt. It wasn't the blood on the young woman that made her queasy, or even the bruises on her face.

It was the thought of how they got there.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>The silent battle of wills between Mary and Patrick was continuing with this morning's breakfast. Their struggle had been going on for so long that Mary barely remembered them not being at odds with each other. It flared during her Season just that past summer in London, and had seemingly only escalated with each month since. Truthfully, Mary had to admit that they only ever got along before because they did not discuss their future marriage. Keeping that looming event in the distance allowed them both to hide behind safer subjects and the impersonal shield of propriety. Their ambivalence to each other changed the closer Mary's Season approached. Patrick tried to control where she went, how long she stayed out, and who she fraternized with. He was worse than a governess and nanny put together. Mary finally had snapped at him to leave her alone, which only infuriated him more and led to numerous clashes, including his rude cutting in on her and Evelyn Napier at her own ball.<p>

Upon their return to Yorkshire, Patrick's boorish behaviour only escalated. He began to openly discuss their wedding after New Year's Eve, asking Mary about possible dates and particulars, volunteering his opinion on who they should invite and where they would spend their honeymoon, and even having the audacity to suggest florists and dressmakers. Mary was running out of vague answers and was finding it harder and harder to suppress an eye roll every time he broached the subject of their nuptials.

Mary knew Patrick would be her husband. That was decided long ago and there was no use fighting it. However, she was still clinging to her freedom and putting off moving forward into her new life. She still gladly received letters from men she had met during her Season. While she did not explicitly encourage anyone, she did nothing to deter them either. There was no harm in it in her mind. Her wedding was over a year away at least, hopefully longer if she could help it, and she was entitled to enjoy the fruits of her Season.

Patrick did not agree, and though it was not discussed openly, Cousin James likely did not either. No one was allowed to have any fun unless it was with their express permission apparently. The only rebellion Mary could muster was to flaunt her independence in their faces, taking advantage of the fact that the family wasn't ready to publish news of their engagement just yet. She would be trapped soon enough, and so she was determined to have some pleasant distraction until the day of reckoning arrived. Hence the ongoing war now with Patrick, of which she felt no remorse. She had already seen what she would be getting in him as her husband. Best to show him now that, even as his wife, she would not be controlled so easily.

"Eat your egg," Patrick commanded, waving at the hard boiled lump sitting in an ornate china cup next to her plate. His light tone of voice and warm smile were betrayed by his cold stare.

"Your nourishment is of utmost priority to me, you know," he continued. "Mary's wasting away before our very eyes, don't you think, Cousin Edith? Apparently no one told her that she did not need to fast any longer once her Season was over."

Edith smiled as she looked at her own plate. She did not dare look at Mary, though everyone already knew that Edith enjoyed Patrick's antics. Mary rolled her eyes, stopping herself from groaning out loud, or worse, firing a retort back at her presumptive fiancé. Mary's expression softened slightly as she met Sybil's concerned eyes. She smiled wanly at her youngest sister. Mary did not bother looking to the head of the table to see if her Papa would react and come to her defense. He never did.

James cast a disdainful eye down the table at Mary, who avoided his gaze. She nibbled her toast, deliberately pushing her egg cup to the side.

James' eyes narrowed. These acts of defiance from Mary were becoming tiresome. Patrick needed to get a hold of her, to rein her in properly. James put aside the problem of his son's future wife for the moment, and turned back to his older cousin.

"How are preparations for the Hunt coming?" James asked.

Robert lowered his newspaper enough for James to see and hear him, but he did not bother making eye contact as he continued to read.

"Very well, thank you," Robert said politely. "Everything is under control and will be ready in plenty of time."

"That remains to be seen," James said, trying in vain to draw Robert's gaze. The Earl couldn't keep his own daughter in line, so his assurances that an event as important as the Hunt was under control lacked all credibility with James.

"Are there any further alterations to the guest list? I gave Carson my last additions yesterday, but the final draft has not been provided to me," James said.

Mary picked at her food. Listening to Cousin James made her understand who Patrick got his patronizing voice from. The man simply could not ask a direct question. Every inquiry, regardless of how minor, was used to remind anyone and everyone of his authority.

Robert turned towards Carson and motioned for the butler to approach.

"Carson, give the guest list for the Hunt to Cousin James," Robert said before returning to his newspaper.

James huffed in indignation, raising his hand and motioning for Carson to hurry up and produce the document.

Mary smirked. While her Papa was disappointingly docile in Cousin James' presence, he still found ways to push back, if only superficially.

James' eyes narrowed as he perused the list, desperately searching for any name that he could object to.

"Lady Sarah Kensington?" James asked with forced agitation. "What on Earth is she doing here for…"

"Papa," Patrick interjected, trying to keep his voice low. "I invited her."

"Lady Sarah?" Sybil repeated in confusion. "But isn't she…"

Mary shot Sybil a look and she went silent. Patrick looked at Mary carefully. She kept her expression neutral, but her sisters knew very well that she was seething inside. Lady Sarah Kensington was one of Mary's fiercest rivals. They came out together last summer and competed in everything – who did the most charity work, who had the more exclusive access to the latest fashions, who had the grander debut ball and who had the higher number of suitors. For Patrick to invite her to the Hunt at Downton Abbey was a slap in the face. Even he did not have the audacity to flirt with her rival in her own home, did he?

Mary deliberately pushed her egg cup further away. If she could, she would have picked it up and thrown it at Patrick's face, but she preferred a soft boiled egg for that – it did more damage.

"Oh," James said, his previous indignation forgotten. "Of course, my boy, I remember now. She is stunning," he said with a smile. "And her uncle is Sir Michael Pembroke, who is a cabinet minister. That is the exact type of gentleman we want frequenting these halls on a regular basis."

Mary sighed audibly. She was reaching her limit and breakfast wasn't even over yet. Cousin James would invite the Devil himself and brag that the Lord of the Underworld was coming to Downton.

"The Honourable Evelyn Napier? Why would he be invited? And blast, I can't even read this heathen's name! Cousin," James said contemptuously, looking at Robert. "Your choice of guests leaves much to be desired – these two in particular."

"Evelyn Napier?" Patrick repeated incredulously. He glared across the table at Mary. She dared to meet his stare unflinchingly. She showed him a slow, satisfied smirk, quirking her eyebrow at him in challenge. He grit his teeth and looked away.

Robert sighed as he dropped his newspaper. He adopted the same indifferent and bored tone that he often used when speaking with James.

"Cousin, you are well aware that Viscount Branksome is a dear friend of the family. His son is always welcome here, and is a high ranking officer in the government for your information. As part of his duties, he is hosting a diplomat from Turkey. I don't like his name any more than you, but with the unrest in the Balkans, our government is discreetly trying to steer the various factions in particular direction. If we can have the Ottoman Empire on our side, so much the better, and we'll be able to say that the Grantham family played a part by hosting this foreigner in a proper English Country House. I would have thought you'd be pleased with the opportunity. You should be, anyway," Robert explained.

Mary thought she could see steam come from Cousin James' ears.

"A brilliant idea, Papa. Evelyn is always such pleasant company. Certainly it's our duty to show some English hospitality to his guest as well," Mary said sweetly.

James and Patrick both levelled their eyes upon her. She reached for her tea cup and took a long sip, seemingly without a care in the world.

"Well," James said, handing the guest list back to Carson. "I disagree. This House should be known for hosting the best and most upstanding peers of England. I have no use for a Turk, and neither does this family. As I expect the invitations have already been sent, and as revoking the Turk's invitation is to also reject Mr. Napier, there's nothing to be done. However, I object to both of them being here, the Turk in particular. I won't risk our family reputation on an international incident, and so I will be watching them closely, Cousin, and you will be held responsible for anything that should go wrong," James declared haughtily.

"You will hold me responsible?" Robert frowned in reply. He paused, then smiled tightly at James. "My dear chap. Assume not the worst of men before you know them. The Hunt should be a merry time as we honour such a fine English tradition. Remember the joy we had as teenagers on our first Hunt? Do not be so quick to scrutinize others lest you end up missing all the fun."

"This is not Parliament, Lord Grantham," James said icily. "You do not have to lobby for my vote, instead you need to ask for my approval; which you did not, and the consequence is that you shall answer for your guests, and I shall answer for mine. And spare me the nostalgia of days gone by, Cousin. I remember an obstinate bully deliberately spurring my horse and trying to make me the laughing stock in front of the then Earl, your father. Your petty schemes did not work then, and they shall not work now."

"Your father forgets himself, and the terms of his agreement with Papa," Patrick said pointedly, looking at Mary, then Edith. "Forgetting one's obligations seems to be a sickness running through part of this family."

Mary did roll her eyes this time. Patrick sneered. Edith swallowed nervously.

"Girls," Robert said tactfully. "Would you excuse us while we talk business?"

Mary quickly rose and Sybil followed her lead. Edith stayed rooted to her chair, glancing at Patrick. Mary hissed her name and glared at her, which compelled her sister to finally rise and follow them. Mary was in no mood to discuss what had taken place or to answer Sybil's questions. She left her sisters in the Great Hall and went up to her bedroom.

Thoughts of the Hunt reminded Mary of a pressing problem she had to address. Her riding boots had gone missing in the past week. She had sent them downstairs to be polished and they had never been returned. As of last night, Anna had still not been able to find them. Mary knew it was far from mere coincidence that her boots had disappeared with the Hunt approaching. Women were not encouraged to ride, and the fact that Mary continued to do so each year was an annoyance to Patrick in particular. Well, the fact that she continued to ride in the Hunt and was far superior to him at it were the source of his annoyance.

If her boots could not be located soon, there would be no time to replace them, and she would not be permitted to participate in the Hunt. Mary cursed her cousin's name, not for the first time. She was convinced he had planned this deliberately, which only sharpened her resolve to not let him win. She'd steal Edith's boots if she had to.

"Milady," Anna said with a warm smile as Mary entered the room.

"Did you find them?" Mary said with a hopeful expression of excitement.

"Yes," she said and she pulled them from a large carpet bag. "All is well again. Mr. Carson found them in Louis's room last night."

Mary's jaw dropped at the revelation. Louis was Patrick's valet. How like him! Just enough distance not to link the theft directly to Patrick himself, but with sufficient connection that Mary would get the message that Patrick did not want her to ride in the Hunt.

"What was his excuse for having them in his possession?"

"His stutter rather convinced Mr. Carson that he didn't know why he actually had them. He didn't remember being responsible for polishing them, and he was quite surprised they were found in his room. I feel bad for Louis; he is rather simple after all."

"You are far kinder than I am, Anna," Mary said as she looked over her boots, satisfied they were in proper condition.

"Mr. Carson did not feel it was appropriate to investigate further," Anna continued. "I think he's afraid to confront Mr. Patrick."

"Quite right," Mary said with contempt. "Besides, the man would just come up with a lie to weasel out of it. Some fable such as wanting to know my boot size to buy me a present. Please return these to Carson, and ask that he keep them in his locker until the Hunt. I don't even think my own room is safe anymore."

Anna took the boots back and smiled wanly at her Mistress.

"It's all right, Anna," Mary said, calming down a bit. "I'm sure once we're married, Patrick will be kinder. And, even if he's not, we won't see much of each other so life won't change overly much."

Anna nodded and curtsied before she left the room. Mary went to her window and looked out on to the vast manicured lawns of her home. Patrick's behaviour was becoming more and more unsettling. She knew they would not have a loving marriage, but he was now getting on her nerves, everything he did setting her teeth on edge. She sighed as watched the men at work, preparing for the Hunt. Her last Hunt as a single woman. She would make it one to be remembered.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Trafford Restaurant at the Midland Hotel, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Penny for your thoughts?" Matthew smiled warmly as he watched Mary stirring her soup. She had yet to taste it even though the chilled tomato and dill mousse was her favourite.<p>

"They are not worthy of such an inflated price," Mary said sullenly. She desperately wished she could shake her melancholy that had set in since she left the hospital. Matthew was patient with her, not pushing for any explanation during their quiet walk over to the hotel and her lack of response. She couldn't help herself. Dark clouds lingered above her every thought.

"I can afford to pay whatever price gains me your conversation. I have all the time in the world," Matthew said, unfazed. He reached across the table and took her hand.

"If your mood doesn't improve soon, I will be forced to take you shopping," he said tenderly. "You will leave me no choice."

"You've already bought me this entire outfit," Mary said, raising her eyes at him.

"Not the _entire_ outfit," Matthew smirked playfully.

She withdrew her hand and blushed, unable to stop a smile from creeping across her lips.

"Actually, yes you have. The _entire_ outfit," she whispered, not looking at him.

Matthew grinned widely. "I may not be able to take your word for that. I may need to confirm it myself."

Mary bit her bottom lip. The nerve of this man!

"You really are overwhelmingly good to me," she said quietly. "And you shouldn't be. I don't deserve it."

"Stop," Matthew said firmly. He pushed his own soup bowl away.

"What are you doing?" she frowned.

"I'm protesting," he said easily. "You're clearly bothered by something and this meal is being affected by it. I refuse to eat another spoonful until you tell me what it is."

"Matthew! You're being impossible," she scolded him.

"Not at all, darling," he whispered back. "The soup is already cold, so waiting will not matter at all. Your mood however, must be addressed immediately."

Mary glanced around. They were in a secluded corner of the restaurant, Matthew's foresight once again much appreciated. There were no other patrons within five tables of them, and no concern they would be overheard. It was questionable if anyone would even spot them at all.

"You win," Mary smiled bravely. How could she deny him anything? She put down her spoon and looked into his waiting gaze.

"I received a letter from Sybil today," Mary began.

Matthew nodded for her to continue as he took a sip of his chilled ice wine. The hot weather made the drink quite soothing to the sweltering environment.

"She says that the family, like Lady Philomena, is still in London for the Season. Normally they only stay through early July, but apparently Lord Grantham wanted to spend August there as well, to show everyone that nothing is amiss despite James and Patrick still missing. Anyway, everyone fashionable is now there, naturally, and Evelyn Napier asked about me," Mary paused. "Despite my reputation, he was kind enough to ask her how I was getting on."

Matthew smiled at this news, however he was perplexed as to why this seemed to have upset Mary, rather than be a relief to her.

"Isn't that welcome news?" He inquired gently.

"Yes," Mary said softly. "Even if I will never speak to him again, it was nice of him to ask about me. Except, it made me think – why is it that I find kindness from everyone except my own parents?"

"I couldn't say," Matthew replied, genuinely sympathetic. "It's hard for me to fathom how any parent could not be concerned for you."

"They're concerned, but not for me," Mary sighed. "I shudder to think of what would happen if Lord Grantham were to meet your father."

"Don't fret about that situation; Papa will never go to Downton, even if he does become the heir," Matthew said.

"You don't know that," Mary replied. "I know that's what he says, but when he realizes how many people rely on the Earl of Grantham, he won't be so dismissive," Mary said nervously. She exhaled a shaky breath. "On top of my sister's letter, I saw something at the hospital earlier that was unsettling, and it won't leave my mind."

"What was it?" Matthew asked.

"A young woman was brought in as I was leaving. She's about Sybil's age. I can't say for sure, but it looked like she was…violated," Mary said quietly.

Matthew's eyes widened. "Oh, Mary. I'm so sorry."

Mary nodded in thanks. "I didn't expect such a thing to still affect me so. But I can't stop thinking about it, and now…I just don't have any appetite."

"It's no worry," Matthew said kindly. "Let's go somewhere more private and talk."

"Back to your house?" Mary asked shakily. "I don't want the servants to see me blubbering, not again."

"No. Somewhere closer," Matthew smiled, dangling a key from his hand.

"Goodness!" Mary said in surprise. "You're very well prepared, Mr. Crawley. You must have used the same strategy to bed any number of women. Get them talking and pounce during their moment of weakness?"

"No," Matthew disagreed. "I don't know very much about women at all. I just have an overwhelming concern for one Lady in particular."

"I've ruined our dinner," Mary shook her head.

"I'll have the food sent up…later," Matthew said kindly. He rose from his chair and offered her his arm.

Mary accepted gratefully. She welcomed the distraction of being alone with Matthew, even though she knew it would only be a temporary respite.

* * *

><p><strong>Downton Abbey, England, February 1911<strong>

* * *

><p>Mary mounted her horse with excitement. It was going to be wicked fun to participate in the Hunt. She felt a definitive sense of contentment as she was completely in her element. Out on the field, with Diamond, the only limits on her the distant horizon. Patrick was a lousy rider and she knew he would not be able to match the speed she could maintain on horseback. He was still walking around inspecting the hunting dogs. His behaviour was laughable, for the animals had natural instincts that would always surpass his need for control. Patrick would never understand that about the beauty of nature in harmony during a hunt. He had neither patience, nor any coordination. Patrick was simply a trumped up ninny. Mary muffled her laughter as he was clumsy and tripped, almost falling into a small puddle on his path. He turned his gaze in her direction and scowled with impetuousness as he adjusted his scarlet hunting jacket. Mary thought he rather reminded her of Little Red Riding Hood. She lowered her eyes further to conceal her amusement. She looked up at the sound of approaching hoof beats and smiled as Evelyn Napier approached. She was glad for the distraction.<p>

"What a charming morning it is," he said pleasantly. "I can already tell that you will own the day, Lady Mary," he praised her. "You seem perfectly calm and composed, and your horse appears as though he would deal cards if you told him to."

Mary smiled as she stroked her horse affectionately. "Diamond and I always work well together," she said with confidence.

"My mount's as jumpy as a Deb at her first ball. So, I shall be happy to follow your gracious lead, should that please you," Evelyn continued.

"What about Mr. Pamuk? If he tumbles, do we endanger peace in the Balkans?" Mary asked jovially.

"Hardly," Evelyn said with a chuckle. "Although he is a bit of dandy, he knows what he is doing on a horse."

"Mary, pay attention," Patrick said, interrupting as he approached on his own horse. As usual, he paid no attention to Evelyn. "You and everyone else shall follow my lead. Papa has given the authority to me to ride out first."

There was chilled silence between them, made all the more disconcerting even with the background noise of the hunting dogs barking eagerly.

"Mary has a zest for riding that can be inappropriate. She forgets herself easily when she is in the saddle. I do apologize for my cousin," Patrick said rigidly in Evelyn's direction.

"On the contrary," Evelyn spoke up, "I was praising Lady Mary for her riding ability."

"Lady Mary does not require praise, and certainly not from you," Patrick said with a biting snub.

Mary rolled her eyes at Patrick's crude behaviour. She turned her gaze to Evelyn and was about to speak when he looked away and smiled. The sound of an approaching horse made her turn in the same direction. The foreigner that Evelyn was hosting came into view, riding up on a black stallion. His dark eyes found hers and he smirked at her as he came closer.

Mary's mouth fell open in surprise. She quickly closed it and resumed her calm demeanour. She had never seen such an exotic looking man before, his dark complexion and olive toned skin was fascinating. He certainly did not look like a dandy. Mounted on horseback, he had the air of a centurion.

"Lady Mary, I presume?" His English surprised her, with only the hint of an accent. She found the sound charming.

She tightened her grip on the reins and she smiled politely, hoping she was not blushing.

"You presume right," Mary said with a graceful smile. She held his gaze unable to look away.

"Allow me to present myself, I am Kemal Pamuk," he said removing his hat and bowing his head. "What a thoroughly enriching spectacle I see before me," he said with relish.

"Indeed," Mary returned, "I hope it will live up to your expectations," she said, feeling a strange pleasure in maintaining this conversation beyond mere greetings.

"This may be my first English Hunt, but I know the process of pursuit very well," Kemal said easily. "I'm afraid, much like my horse, I can be rather relentless when the bit is between my teeth."

Mary swallowed. Was flirting in Turkey the same as flirting in England?

Patrick cleared his throat and removed a flask tucked into his boot. Mary quickly made an excuse to leave the gentlemen, saying she needed a word with Lynch before the Hunt began. She did, however, look back over her shoulder and was stunned to see that the foreigner winked at her. She turned quickly away, afraid another blush would betray the emotions swirling inside her chest.

As she approached, Lynch reassured her that they were moments away from departure.

"I won't need you to follow me, Lynch. I will have my two champions to left and right, Mr. Napier and his guest," Mary said with excitement.

"Two, milady?" Lynch asked, looking past her at the Evelyn and Kemal, who were talking casually to each other. Patrick was several paces away, nudging his horse towards the front of the pack. "Mr. Patrick will surely not approve of that."

"Oh, hang him," Mary replied with a smile. "My duty is to show our guests the full splendor of the Hunt, especially Mr. Pamuk as he is a novice at such things. Which way will the course be set?"

"I'm suggesting through the south field," Lynch replied with some hesitation. "You know that His Lordship expects me to be responsible for your well being," he added with a nervous tick.

"Never mind me," Mary said dramatically. "I can handle the terrain. And therefore I will be taking our guests through the briar patch," she smiled as she rode off without another word.

Lynch sighed at the exhibition before him. He had half a mind to stop his wilful Mistress until he saw Patrick whip his horse severely, without reason. No, Lady Mary was certainly not the problem. He could trust her, and he could also handle Mr. Patrick's wrath should he need to distract the caddish man. Lynch signalled to the Master of the Hunt. Once Patrick took up his position and raised his arm, the trumpet blared and the Hunt began.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"It sounds adventurous," Matthew said as he kissed her shoulder.<p>

"It was. It was thrilling," Mary agreed, leaning her head to the side to invite him to kiss her neck. His arms wrapped around her waist and she sighed, sitting back against his chest and enjoying the feel of him encircling her, guarding her, keeping her safe.

The curtain danced back and forth from a breeze through the open window. Matthew always preferred staying on the higher floors of the hotel. 'For the view' he told her, but she expected it was for her own benefit, so that they would not be seen by any random eyes from the ground below. Once they had reached their suite, she had discovered a bath drawn for her. He urged her to relax and was even kind enough to give her privacy to be alone with her thoughts. She had emerged from the bathroom wearing only a robe, finding him sitting up in bed reading. He had put his book down and smiled at her, holding out his arms and welcoming her to sit with him.

"You already know what happened later, though," Mary said softly. She nuzzled her nose into his neck and inhaled his scent as though it was a lovely sleeping draught.

"Yes," he said soothingly. He kissed her again and she cuddled closer to him. "But, tell me again. Talk it out darling, talk until your heartache lessens and your ghosts are exorcised."

"I'll run out of breath for that," she said wistfully. "And despite your best efforts, it seems my ghosts shall haunt me for many years to come."

"My best efforts? Oh no, Mary, I've barely just begun. Although I would hope that our time together has shown you that I don't care what some witless fool with a title thinks of you, or what has happened in your past."

"Convince me again," she whispered into his ear, turning in his arms and sitting in his lap. "I love creating new memories with you, Matthew."

Mary kissed his cheek, then his neck, unbuttoning his shirt quickly. She tasted his skin, exposing more of him as she moved lower down his body. He eventually took hold of her and gently turned them over, his body warm against hers. She removed the rest of his clothing and lost herself in his loving touch, banishing her demons once again, if only for a short while.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary emerged from her bedroom and jumped in shock. She frowned as Patrick stood in the doorway, blocking her path.<p>

"Patrick," she said brusquely. "Have you gotten lost?"

"Not at all. I have urgent business to discuss with my fiancée," Patrick said. He grabbed her wrist and stepped towards her.

Mary's eyes widened in alarm. His grip was firm and strong, and his breath smelled of alcohol, making her want to gag.

"I'm warning you, Mary. No antics at dinner," he snarled.

Mary winced as she tried to free her hand from his strong grasp. She wished someone would come out to the hall and see them as she was pinned against her bedroom door, except everyone was still occupied dressing for dinner apparently.

"Let me go," Mary seethed.

"Your behaviour at the Hunt was pathetic," Patrick taunted. "Taking off with Napier and that heathen by yourself, doing God knows what out of my view. I've tried to be fair with you, but you always push me past the limits that any gentleman can endure." He batted at the elegant feather she had in her hair and Mary flinched.

"All will be forgiven, my sweetheart," he said as he pressed his weight more firmly against her, his legs stepping between her own. "If you give me a kiss and apologize."

"Patrick!" Mary cried with agitation. It wasn't the first time she had found herself in such a horrible confinement with him pressing his demands. "You know this is not proper."

Edith's door opened and she came out into the hallway. She stopped and gasped when she discovered the scene in front of Mary's bedroom. Mary took advantage of Patrick's temporary distraction and pulled her arm from his grasp. She stopped herself from slapping him and quickly departed down the hall, not even waiting for her sister.

Patrick glared at her retreating form, then left in the opposite direction, ignoring Edith completely.

"What was that all about?" Edith said as she caught up to Mary on the staircase leading to the Great Hall. "What kind of game are you two playing?"

"Never you mind," Mary said harshly. "It's between me and my fiancé. It's none of your concern." She adjusted her gloves to hide the mark Patrick's hold had left on her wrist.

Once at the dinner table, Mary could finally relax. She ignored the daggers that Patrick sent her with his eyes and continued to chat amiably with Evelyn. She knew Patrick would not dare try anything in front of all these guests, and she was eager to put him back in his place. How dare he put his hands on her? Mary sipped her wine as she listened to Evelyn tell her another tale from his daily duties with the government. While his conversation was rather boring, his interest served her purpose. Patrick was boiling at the attention she was receiving. Determined to twist the knife further into his side, Mary turned deliberately to Kemal Pamuk and smiled warmly to him.

"Mr. Pamuk, what is Istanbul like?" Sybil asked with curiosity.

"It is a strategic city of wondrous majesty, with bazaars of beauty, delicate and intransigent. And one thing we share with this country is the _sis_, or as you would say, fog. It amazes me to travel so far and find something so illusive having such dominance here as well as in my homeland," Kemal said smoothly.

"The fog was invasive this morning on the Hunt," Mary said as she sipped her wine. "I hardly knew which direction I was riding," she added with a chuckle.

"And yet you rode as though you could have steered your horse with your eyes closed," Kemal smiled at Mary. "You should come see my family stables in Turkey. Truly incredible beasts we have."

"The ferry ride and train to Istanbul are rather long and arduous, I'm afraid," Evelyn said.

"Yes, wouldn't the journey be painful?" Mary asked, caught off guard by the invitation of the Turk.

"One must endure a little pain to achieve satisfaction," Kemal replied, staring intently at Mary.

Robert looked about the dining room table. He noticed that Mary's conversation with Evelyn Napier and the Turk, Kemal Pamuk, was now drawing the attention of Patrick and James.

"I fear Cousin Mary would not be able to go to Turkey without a full entourage. She knows nothing of your ways," Patrick said, sipping his wine. "We would all be terrified for her safety."

"I would personally see to it that she is very well taken care of," Kemal replied with annoyance evident in his voice. "As I would extend the same courtesy to any of you who wish to visit."

"Thank you, _Mr. Pam-ek_," James replied. "But that won't be necessary. There's no need to travel when all one could ever desire is here in England."

"Lady Mary," Kemal said as turned his attention abruptly. "I'm very curious to see the first edition of _One Thousand and One Arabian Nights_ that you mentioned."

She blushed at the attention. "Yes, it was an acquisition of the first Earl of Grantham and has been in our library here for more than two hundred years."

"I've always loved the story of Scheherazade," Kemal continued. "A woman who could entice a man with words for a thousand nights, a talent few women could achieve."

Mary couldn't help but stare into the foreigner's eyes and she nervously fidgeted with her necklace. She was rendered speechless by this man's gaze.

"I'd also like to see this book," Evelyn broke in. "If Lady Mary recommends it, I'm sure the experience will be well worth the time."

"Well," Robert said with unease. "Shall we let the ladies go through? As luck would have it, I do have some Turkish tobacco in my humidor."

"Yes," James said with agitation. "My Cousin fancies himself a bit of a Sultan," he said laughing in amusement as though he had just made a clever joke.

Mary smiled at the fun of having antagonized her relations. She smiled politely at Evelyn and bashfully at Kemal. Her Mama called for her as her sisters were already exiting from the dinning room. She strode from the room, excited to find the book that had so enticed her two champions.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You are rather like Scheherazade," Matthew said fondly, stroking her bare back. "And I foresee that you shall captivate me for far more than a thousand nights. I fall in love with you more every day as I understand how nice you truly are."<p>

"You think me nice, but no one else does," Mary said with hesitation, "What makes you so sure that I am?"

"Because I get to see you naked, and hold you in my arms. Because I know the real you. You're strong, unbroken, unchanged. You've suffered and still you stand."

"Goodness. What a testimonial," Mary said as she turned her head towards him and kissed him lightly.

"Do you feel better now?" Matthew asked, running his fingers along her back.

"Yes, but it doesn't change anything," Mary sighed against his chest. "Even you can't change what I've done."

"Mary…" Matthew said.

"No, Matthew," she sighed. "I was foolish, and I was paid out for my folly. But all of my behaviour, my misplaced rebellious ways, everything that went wrong, all of that led me to you, so in a way I'm grateful." She kissed him fiercely to demonstrate her point.

"I only wish I had not fallen so far to have to find my saviour in you," she said quietly, returning to his chest.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"That is indeed a fine edition of a Persian classic," Kemal said as he touched the book Mary placed in his hands. It had gold tipped pages and a fine leather bound cover.<p>

"The western fascination with this saga never fails to amuse me," he added. "So predictable."

Mary was confused by his last comment, but she didn't concentrate on it.

She was too busy avoiding Patrick's glaring. At least he was occupied by Lady Sarah Kensington, and could only shadow her from across the room, rather than be right next to her.

"What's in that room?" Kemal asked suddenly. "More paintings that you can educate me on?"

"Yes, but perhaps we should wait for Evelyn," Mary said carefully, looking over at the darkened parlour. Carson had turned out the lights to dissuade guests from wandering.

"Oh, he's been here before, hasn't he? I'm sure he won't care to see the paintings again. I, on the other hand, will likely never visit again, so it's only right that you show me everything that you have to offer while I am here, isn't it?" Kemal smiled.

"If you wish," Mary said. Perhaps it was a good idea. She could use the escape from Patrick's unwavering oversight.

They walked into the parlour and Kemal wandered over to a large painting in the middle of the wall.

"Is this a Della Francesca?" he asked, glancing back at Mary.

She came over to get a better look.

"I think so. The…"

She was cut off as Kemal reached for her and kissed her fiercely. His boldness was surprising and the attention she had been enjoying all night now felt strange and unwelcome. She tried to resist, but he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding across her closed lips, a clammy sensation she had never felt before. His hands framed her face, holding her in place, stopping her from moving. Finally, the kiss ended and she gasped for breath, pulling back from him but still trapped in his embrace as his hands went to her hips and fondled her bottom through her dress. Kissing him was like sucking on a spice bag. Mary had coughed before she spoke.

"Mr. Pamuk!" she said in shock and agitation. She pushed against his chest as he seemed determined to resume the kiss.

"What on Earth is this?" Patrick yelled as he entered the room. The anger of his voice was fermented in all of his actions. His hands clenched at his side. Mary had never been so glad to see the wretched Patrick, if only for allowing her the chance to disengage from Kemal.

"Get your heathen paws off of her!" Patrick continued as he stomped towards them.

Kemal remained silent, but surprisingly unaffected by being caught out. He offered no apology and simply bowed slightly before leaving the room abruptly. Before she could say anything though, Patrick was upon her, standing a mere breath away.

"You'll pay for this, Mary," he said furiously. "Denying me for so long and yet allowing that infidel to claim your lips so easily?"

He stomped away from her, leaving her alone.

Laughter filtered in from the room where their family and guests were assembled. Mary was silent, her voice taken by shock and indignation. Did Patrick honestly believe she had invited Pamuk's assault? A part of her hoped that Patrick's drunken threats would be forgotten in the morning. She held her head up high and quickly darted back to the safety of her Mama and sisters. However, she felt a knot in her stomach when she saw Cousin James watching her as she crossed the room. He smiled at her and shook his head subtly in a small gesture of scolding.

"Mary," Sybil said fondly. "Mama wants to play bridge, would you join us?"

"Of course," she said taking a deep breath to level her nerves.

Mary's hands shook as she held the book in front of her. With all of the day's excitement, she could not sleep. And in all fairness, she couldn't concentrate on reading either. She couldn't help but feel a sense of dread regarding her fiancé. Would Patrick still hold his irrational view that she would willingly kiss another man under his very nose? And further, Cousin James also seemed to have formed an especially rotten view of her recent conduct; therefore, even if Patrick forgot about what he saw between her and Kemal, Cousin James would be sure to remind him. Her cousins were both like heartless children, fickle and incapable of maintaining dignity due to their status. A leech had more purpose than they did. Mary couldn't understand why her father contended with such nonsense from their ill-bred relations.

* * *

><p>Later as she sat in bed, Mary sighed as she once again tried to concentrate on her book. It wasn't as though Mary's dislike for Patrick, and even for James, was a secret. It was obvious that they didn't get along. But it was equally clear that Mary would do her duty and her wedding would proceed as planned. Up until tonight, her flirting was just harmless fun, a way for her to be the centre of attention for a while longer before her engagement became official. She knew she could handle whatever Patrick threw at her, but there was something about his expression when he last spoke to her, when he fired his last threat. He looked far more sinister in that moment than she'd ever seen him before.<p>

She had finally been able to turn the page of her book when the door to her bedroom unexpectedly opened. Mary gasped as Patrick entered. His eyes were bloodshot and he staggered drunkenly through after closing the door behind him with great effort. In his gaze was a primal lust that scared her.

"Are you mad?" She said as she dropped the book and pulled up the covers to hide her nightgown. "Leave this instant or I will scream!"

Patrick only laughed. He stopped at the foot of her bed and with unexpected dexterity he pointed his left index finger at her and with his right he rubbed against it.

"Tsk, Tsk," he muttered with a little clucking sound. "Shame on you, dear Mary."

"What do you want?" Mary hissed, her pulse racing in alarm. She had never been so exposed before Patrick before. She felt as though he could stare through the blanket covering her, that the mere glimpse of her nightgown was already too revealing to him.

"Oh, I think you are very well aware of what I want," Patrick snarled, his gaze roaming across her body despite the blanket between them. "I've come to allow you to perform your duty to me," he smiled wickedly.

"Get out!" Mary snarled. "You're drunk and clearly delusional!"

"And you are forgetting, once again, who you are beholden to!" he shot back. "Do you actually think you are bestowing a privilege upon me by marrying me? May I remind you who is the heir to the Grantham Estate? You need me far more than I need you, Mary."

Mary swallowed. The truth of his words were a crushing blow that tightened her chest.

"You can't touch me. Not like that, not yet, and you know why not," Mary said, forcing her voice to not quiver and reveal the terror that was coursing through her body.

"I can't?" Patrick repeated incredulously. He smiled, a wicked grin that chilled Mary's spine. "Oh, but I can, Mary. I can do whatever I want with you. Whether it's now or on our wedding night, you will not refuse me if you value your future," he said rashly. "I will have you over a barrel one way or another," he laughed at his own horrible joke.

"Go on and scream, Mary," Patrick continued, taunting her. "Who shall ride to your rescue? Napier? The Turk? No, they're in the Bachelors' Wing. They couldn't hear you even if I were to summon them. The servants? Do you really think that the word of that wretch of a lady's maid of yours would be believed over mine? No, that just leaves your sisters and your parents. And who do you think would champion his child's cause more fiercely? My Papa…or yours?"

"Patrick," Mary said with a shiver, her nerves shaken by his unprecedented vulgarity. "We'll be married, just as we agreed, and I will…I will do…I will do my duty to you then, not now."

"Mary, Mary quite contrary," he hummed with a small sinister laugh. He thumped his fist on the end of her bed and leaned onto the bedpost. "I've always wanted you Mary, to possess you completely as my own. Through the years, I've tethered my patience to your happiness and suffered rebuke after rebuke. And for what did I enjoy in this condescension? Nothing!" His voice rose loudly and echoed throughout the room.

Mary bit her lip at the hopelessness of her situation. She had thought someone could rescue her if she screamed loud enough. Carson, Anna, she would even hug Edith and shower her with kisses if she were to come into her room now. But Patrick was right. No one could hear them. And even if they did, and someone came, who would believe her or defend her against Patrick's conspiracy and treachery? Downton Abbey was a tomb at night. How many times had she taken advantage of how sound never travelled through the walls to sneak down to the library or the kitchens at night?

"It seems I lost the bet," he slurred, glancing around the room in an exaggerated fashion. "The Turk is not here as we assumed, warming the cockle shells of your heart. I must have just missed him as the last of the lovers you invited into your bed tonight."

Patrick laughed, "I owe Papa a guinea."

Mary's anger flared. Her precarious position was terrifying, but Patrick's words incensed her.

"Why are you even here?" she shot back. "Was Lady Kensington's room too far away for you?"

"Not at all," Patrick shook his head lazily. "I've just come from there, in fact."

Mary's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in horror. "You bastard!" she snarled.

Patrick's laugh was cold and made her shiver.

"Is that the best you can do, Mary?" he chuckled. "Lady Kensington used that same barb when I refused to propose to her during your Season. Oh yes, I've already had her, among others. And yet, she readily accepted my invitation and came running here, desperate to see me. She was once proud and dismissive towards me as you are, Mary. Yes, you have much in common with your bitter rival."

Mary swallowed, her mind spinning at each scandal Patrick was now revealing.

"But she spread her legs for me eventually, Mary. More than once in fact. Oh, but don't worry. After we're married, I'll keep my visits with her discreet. With you doing your duty to me, I'll only need to fuck her once or twice a week at most," Patrick said casually as though he were reading the newspaper rather than spewing such filth.

Mary's hands tightened on the blanket. "You're a monster!" she sputtered.

"I'm many things, dearest Mary," Patrick said thickly, walking around the bed with startling speed. He sat down next to her, his weight against her thigh, his lips dangerously close. "Most importantly, I'm your fiancé. And I've decided we need to practice for our wedding night, now."

He was over her and Mary fell backward from his heavy weight. She had no time to think; she kicked with her legs and flailed, throwing her fists at him. Patrick dodged the majority of her defensive actions; however, his motor skills were dulled by his inebriation. She made contact with his side and pushed with all her might and Patrick rolled from the bed. He landed on the floor with a loud thump.

"You bitch!" he said as he howled in pain.

Mary stared at her bedroom door wondering if she should try and escape. She could exit her room and lock herself in the bathroom perhaps.

"You're going to regret that, I'll make you regret everything!" Patrick grunted as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. His breath was coming in sharp gasps and Mary could see his face was flushing red with rage.

Mary shuddered, even though all of her instincts told her bolt; she was frozen in place. She could not will her limbs to move, and Patrick's cold words reverberated in her mind. She needed her parents and all she could imagine was their disapproving glance and their telling her to shut up and be quiet so as to not anger Cousin James.

"Do you have any idea how miserable I could make your life, Mary?" Patrick yelled, rubbing the back of his head and wincing. "Who do you think shall wield all the power when your spineless father passes on? Your Mama, your sisters, they could all be cast out at one word from me! The means of their continued privileged life are in your hands, and by God you will obey me!"

Patrick hurled himself to his feet and advanced upon her.

"No more, Mary," Patrick glared at her cruelly. "No more fighting, no more resistance. From now on, you will spread your legs at my command and receive me gratefully, and neither of us will tell a soul. That way, your virtue will be intact until our wedding day, and no one need be the wiser. You'll moan like a whore by the time I'm finished with you, and then I'll have you, again and again, and as many times as I want, now, tomorrow, next week, next month, and all the years of our marriage."

Patrick's face curled into a wicked grin. Mary swallowed and tensed, the tears flowing freely from her eyes as he pulled the blankets from her weak grasp. He lay himself on top of her, licking her sobbing face and pressing his hips against hers.

"I own you, Mary," he hissed.

Mary closed her eyes tight.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I had no choice. He forced me to do it," Mary said as tears pooled in her eyes. "Little did I know that Cousin James and Patrick had planned everything in advance. It didn't matter what I did that night. They were going to teach me a lesson, and they did. I got my comeuppance. I got what I deserved."<p>

"No," Matthew said fiercely. "Don't say that, don't think that and don't ever let yourself believe that."

Mary turned towards him and caressed his cheek with her hand. "You're a darling and I love you. But you didn't know me then, Matthew. I was a vain and foolish young woman, arrogant, entitled, spoiled. I would have ridiculed your middle class background if we had met back then. You would have hated me."

"Never," Matthew said. "I would have seen in you what I see in you now – that there is far more to you than just being a pretty face and the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter."

She leaned over and kissed him softly. "I wonder if I had just been nicer to Patrick, more docile, more compliant, if any of this would have happened."

"You would end up suffering for it, Mary. Dare I say you would suffer more than you are today if you had ended up marrying that cad," Matthew said.

"You shouldn't always take my side," Mary shook her head. "I'm am a disagreeable woman."

"I know that," Matthew laughed. "Are you forgetting that we've had more than our share of arguments."

"And yet, our arguments always seem to end with us doing what we've just done tonight," Mary raised her eyebrow at him.

"Entirely a coincidence, darling," Matthew smirked. "The fact remains that if young Mr. Patrick didn't perish on the Titanic, I would like to kill the imbecile with my own two hands," he said seriously.

"No, you wouldn't," Mary said her voice strained and yet resilient. "That is not in your character. But, thank you for saying as much, my honour though is no longer at stake. It vanished that night and can never return."

"This is one argument Mary," Matthew said as he kissed her softly on the crown of her head. "That I do not enjoy having with you." He squeezed her in his loving embrace. "Let's fight about something else now, shall we?"

"Who can finish dinner first, perhaps?" Mary said gently. She wiped away her tears. "You can call for room service to bring up what we ordered downstairs?"

"Oh no," Matthew said with a wicked smile. "I was anticipating something more fun."

"More fun than food?" Mary said with mock confusion. She turned and slid up his body, her face coming level with his. "What else could we fight about that is better than that?"

"Let's fight about who's louder. I say it's you," Matthew said before he flipped them over and kissed her neck. His hand travelled down her side and pushed her thigh to his side.

Mary laughed. She hooked her leg across his hip. Her hand moved between them and took hold of him, bringing a groan from him as he kissed her shoulder.

"Have a go, Matthew. Your voice will be hoarse by the time I'm done with you," she hissed.

Matthew fleetingly thought he had perhaps taken on too big of a challenge as Mary's hand moved faster on him. He captured her mouth and he focused on the feel of her body beneath him, her enthusiastic response thrilling him. It wasn't important who won this particular argument between them, but they were both determined to make it a rather long debate.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Downton Abbey, England, February 1911**_

* * *

><p>The last car in the long convoy disappeared down the driveway. Cora nodded and turned, heading back into the house. Sybil and Edith followed. Mary stood staring into the distance, the slight chill in the early morning air barely disturbing her. The guests had now departed and Downton Abbey was back to its normal compliment of residents – her family, the servants, and of course, Cousin James and Cousin Patrick.<p>

Truth be told, she was sorry to see the guests depart, in particular Evelyn Napier. She had barely said two words to him when she came down for breakfast. He had smiled at her and attempted to make conversation, but her friendly and playful flirting from the night before was gone. His guest, Kemal Pamuk, wisely stayed silent and did not engage her. After his deplorable behaviour from the previous evening, Mary made no move to even acknowledge his presence. The two men were perplexed by her reserved demeanor, each of them for different reasons, but before she could think to change her mood, Cousin Patrick came down to the morning room, and she ended all attempts at pleasantries as she felt his gaze upon her.

Mary sighed. The guests were gone. The Hunt was over. Though she hadn't spoken to the majority of the guests, who were mostly friends of her parents, she felt strangely alone.

"Mary, come," Cora called.

Mary turned and walked back into the house.

The servants dispersed to their various duties. Mary pondered what she would do until luncheon. Her Papa was in the library with Cousin James and Cousin Patrick, and she was glad they had not bothered to say goodbye to the guests. The less time she spent in the same vicinity as Patrick the better. She decided on going back up to her room and reading when the door to the library opened and the Earl of Grantham stepped out.

"Cora," Robert called. "Please come in with the girls."

Mary swallowed nervously. Why were they being summoned? Any business that Robert discussed with James and Patrick was usually kept amongst the three of them. The women of the house weren't told anything unless it affected them directly, and even then nothing was divulged unless the men deemed it necessary. Mary rolled her eyes as she watched her Mama and sisters move dutifully into the library. She did not want to set foot in that room with Patrick there as well, but it could not be helped. She shook her head. Patrick was her fiancé. She would be spending a great deal of time with him in the coming months leading up to their wedding, and so she had better get used to being ordered around at every turn. She steeled herself and followed the others into the library, hoping this would be something as mundane as announcing which dreary neighbours were coming to dinner next.

Mary kept her expression cold and blank as she came into the room. Patrick and James stood to one side, their expressions seemed more stern than usual. Not wanting to meet Patrick's gaze, Mary kept looking at her Papa. Cora sat down on the settee, and Mary and her sisters gathered around her. Her father stood by the fireplace, his fingers drumming slowly on the marble mantel.

Oddly, Carson was standing stoically to the side of the door. Mary wondered why he was lingering. If he was required somehow, they would ring for him, so why did he need to remain?

"Robert, what is this about?" Cora asked.

"Has Mr. Napier left with the Turk?" James interjected, not allowing Robert to speak.

"Yes, all the guests are gone," Cora replied, frowning at James. "Why?"

"We have family business to discuss. Urgent business," James said evenly, a hint of a smirk crossing his lips as he glanced over at Mary. However, he quickly looked away and he changed his gaze towards his son instead. After several moments, James looked over at his older cousin, the Earl.

"Robert," James said firmly.

Mary frowned. Since when did Cousin James lead family discussions? Of course he loved to bluster on about this and that, but her Papa was still the Earl.

"Mary," Robert said, looking first at James, then back to his eldest daughter. "Did you speak to Mr. Pamuk last night after dinner?"

Everyone turned to look at her. Mary blinked at her father before answering. Her face did not show the confusion mounting within her. Why was she being asked about the Turk?

"Yes, I did," she replied calmly. "I made conversation with Evelyn Napier and Mr. Pamuk, among other guests that joined us last night. We all did."

"But no one monopolised your time the way Mr. Pam-ek did, Mary, isn't that right? And you did not merely make polite conversation, did you?" James asked, his voice almost a sneer.

"I don't know what you're referring to," Mary answered, fixing Cousin James with a cold stare of her own. "I suppose my interpretation of what is considered polite is, not surprisingly, markedly different from yours."

James' eyes narrowed at her rebuke. His lip twitched, revealing his teeth briefly before he regained his composure.

"Well, what is included in the bounds of being polite, Mary?" James asked lightly. "You spent quite a bit of time with the Turk last night. Are you so interested in the goings on in the Balkans? Or was it that he was intrigued by the breathtaking exploits of a young lady such as yourself?"

The confusion Mary was feeling was rapidly replaced by seething anger.

"Though I can't see why this is important, we discussed the first edition _One Thousand and One Arabian Nights_ that he asked me to show him, as well as the paintings in the drawing room," Mary replied with an almost bored tone. "I expected him to make his excuses at any moment and go to engage you in conversation, Cousin James. After all, we all know that your company is infinitely more pleasing than mine."

"A damn book and some paintings? Was that all?" Patrick said bitterly.

"Patrick!" Cora frowned in alarm. "Your language!"

"I apologize, Cousin Cora," Patrick said quickly, keeping his cold stare on Mary the entire time. "But I'm afraid that Mary is not being entirely forthright with us."

Mary's eyes widened. Even Patrick couldn't possibly…

"Mary," Robert said slowly. "Were you with the Turk…in private?"

Mary turned back to her Papa and could not help but open her mouth in surprise. Her mind raced. She sensed a trap, knowing that Patrick would have told at least his own father about seeing Kemal kissing her in the parlour.

"Yes, I was," Mary said evenly, holding her head high. "I didn't want to discuss this for fear it would anger you, Papa, but Mr. Pamuk asked me a question about the Della Francesca in the parlour, and as I was answering him…he kissed me."

Cora gasped in shock. Sybil covered her open mouth and Edith stared at Mary with wide eyes.

"He kissed you," Robert repeated, in a strangely calm voice. "And did you encourage his advances?"

"Robert!" Cora hissed. "How dare you!"

"Answer the question, Mary," Patrick said.

Mary glared at her fiancé, then looked back at her father.

"No, absolutely not," she answered. "His conduct was entirely uninvited, despite how it may have looked to certain people."

"What are you talking about, Mary?" Cora asked.

"Patrick saw us," Mary said, frowning at Patrick. "It would have been obvious to anyone that Mr. Pamuk was taking liberties with me, but Patrick seems to have misinterpreted what he saw."

All eyes turned to Patrick.

"I caught them in the parlour," Patrick said, frowning at Mary. "I stopped them before things could have escalated to God knows what."

"Of course you did," Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Mary," Cora said.

"Mama, he's just being insufferable!" Mary retorted. "I have no reason to kiss any man when I'm already promised to him. I completely agree that what he saw was shocking. It was shocking to me when it happened. I did not invite such behaviour, nor did I welcome it or appreciate it. If Patrick chooses not to believe that, then so be it. It was a kiss, nothing more, and I will admit that I am grateful to my fiancé for interceding when he did. That's the end of it."

"Do you honestly expect us to believe that nothing else transpired between the two of you, Mary?" James asked coldly.

Mary frowned and looked at Cousin James. She glanced at Patrick, who was staring at her intently. Surely the drunkard did not have the temerity to tell his father _everything_ about last night!

"What else could there have been? I spent the rest of the evening playing bridge with Mama and my sisters, and everyone saw us retire when Mama went up. I didn't speak to Mr. Pamuk or Evelyn for the rest of the evening and I hardly said anything to them this morning at breakfast either," Mary said slowly.

"Mr. Pam-ek was seen going into your bedroom late last night, after everyone retired," James said bluntly. "You tried to hide the truth but I am here to unveil your wicked ways."

"What?" Cora exclaimed. Her hand flew to her chest.

"That's a lie," Mary said tightly.

"Who said this?" Edith asked, glancing from Mary to James.

"Two of the servants saw the heathen creep rather stealthily to Mary's bedroom, and with a small knock, he was let in," James explained, looking at Robert, then Cora.

Robert stood silently, his fingers had stopped drumming and had curled into a fist.

"What do you say to that, Mary?" Robert asked.

Mary glared at her Papa.

"How could you even ask me that?" she growled. "It's a lie, Papa! I would never let any man into my bedroom!"

"There are witnesses," James said smoothly. "Not only did they see Mr. Pamuk be admitted to Mary's bedroom, but they saw him leave later to go back to his own room. And when he left," James paused, glancing about the room at each of the family. "Mary kissed him goodnight."

Cora looked faint. She stared at Mary with wide eyes.

Sybil and Edith were stunned into silence, both of them looking at their sister as though she were a complete stranger to them.

"What sort of deception is this?" Mary asked bitterly. "Who saw all of this happen with such remarkable detail?"

"I did," Patrick declared.

Mary stopped herself from lunging at her fiancé and scratching his eyes out. Barely.

"The servants fetched me when they saw that infidel go to Mary's room. I went to investigate myself. There was no time to rouse the rest of the family. My future wife, the woman I love, was in danger and she needed me, or so I thought."

"And you saw…what they say they saw?" Cora demanded, her voice shaking.

"I saw her kiss him goodnight when he left," Patrick replied. "It was completely dark in the hallway of course, save the faint light from the candle the bastard was holding. They were too…busy with each other…to notice me standing down the hall. But before that, when I arrived at Mary's door, I…heard them inside."

"And?" James asked.

"And I…" Patrick paused, looking down at the floor. He bit his lip and cringed, shutting his eyes.

"It's all right, son," James said sympathetically, placing his hand on his son's shoulder. "You can tell them just as you told me and Cousin Robert. Everyone needs to know, Patrick. You must do the right thing no matter how much it grieves you."

"I heard Mary call out his name in passion!" Patrick raged, his face showing pain and hurt that almost convinced Mary herself that it was genuine.

"Mary!" Cora cried, looking at her daughter in bewilderment.

"Liar!" Mary shrieked loudly at Patrick. "You're lying! You never saw any of that!"

"How could you, Mary?!" Patrick yelled back. "I knew you liked to flirt and I allowed it because it was just harmless fun I thought, but this…we were engaged, Mary! How could you betray me like this?!"

Mary's hands balled into fists. The tears welled in her eyes and fury blazed inside of her. She slowly looked around the room, confused at the strange silence that had fallen over everyone. Her Mama was still staring at her in horror. Sybil was crying. Edith was wide eyed and shocked. Her father was looking at her with a frown, an expression of…disappointment?

"This is all a scheme!" Mary blasted. "None of that happened, and Patrick knows it!"

"Mary," Robert said coldly. "There are witnesses. This isn't some hollow accusation."

She stared at both of her parents for a long moment. Her lip quivered slightly but her anger quelled her fear. Neither had said anything yet to defend her. Neither had questioned anything said by James or Patrick. Mary realized with a shiver of despair that neither of her parents found the tale unbelievable at all.

"Which servants saw all of this?" she asked with cold fury, her voice teetering on the precipice of an outright scream. "Who are these upstanding witnesses who are supporting Loki's myth?" she sneered, waving her hand dismissively at Patrick.

"Louis saw you," Robert said, swallowing under his eldest daughter's glare.

"Patrick's valet?!" Mary cried incredulously, making no effort to quiet her voice. "You take the word of Patrick's lackey over mine?!"

"His story was corroborated by Barrow," Robert answered immediately. "What motive would either of them have to lie? Louis has no vendetta against you. No one in this house does. We arranged for your marriage, Mary. We secured your future with Patrick. And then you go and do this…" Robert shook his head.

"Papa, you're not listening to…" Mary said in frustration.

"This scandal could ruin us Mary!" Robert fired back, silencing her with the anger in his tone. "No one benefits from this. No one is lying. No one is making up fables. There is no motive for anyone to turn against you. What this is, is a spoiled girl who abused our trust in the most deplorable way possible and thought she could get away with it!"

Mary's eyes bulged and she gasped in disbelief. Her eyes flew from her Papa to her Mama, then to her sisters. All of them looked back at her in silence. There was no defence given, no sympathy or assistance offered.

"This cannot be happening," Mary said almost to herself as her eyes moved to Patrick. He looked at her with a strange expression – one of anger mostly, but in his eyes there was something else. Mary's mouth opened in belated realization.

"I wish it weren't happening," James sighed dramatically. "Thank God we found out when we did. The Turk will be going home, but he's bound to spread news of his conquest. Those people are like that. No discretion at all. Our family name is in grave danger."

"He won't say a word, because it never happened," Mary retorted, gathering the last reserves of her courage.

"You, Mary, will leave Downton immediately," James said with eerie calm. "Your engagement to Patrick is over, obviously. Thankfully we have not published the announcement. If the Turk stays quiet, then we shall count ourselves lucky. If he says anything, either now, or in the future, then at least your absence will allow us to distance ourselves from the scandal and hopefully our family name shall survive."

"You can't send me anywhere!" Mary pointed at him. "Not only am I innocent, but you aren't the Earl! You have no power over me, and neither does your spineless whelp of a son!"

"Mary," Robert interrupted.

"Mary, I am the heir to…" James scolded her.

"I don't give a damn who you are!" Mary said, silencing everyone. "You think you run this family, but you don't, not yet. If Patrick wants to break the engagement, fine. I'll be glad to be free of him. But you can't force me to leave my home. No one can!"

"I can, Mary," Robert responded.

Mary turned to her father and it was if she was 10 years old, looking upon him, the Earl of Grantham, larger than life, the most imposing and powerful man she knew.

"Papa?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Your Grandmamma may be willing to take you in, Mary," Robert said, his eyes sad. "You may find the New World to your taste."

"What?" Mary choked out. She turned away from him. "Mama! You must see this is all a lie! I can't be sent away over this!"

"Your Papa and Cousin James have spoken, Mary," Cora said, tears falling from her eyes. "They control this House. You know that. The terms of the entail are clear. You knew that as well. You can never be Countess now because of…what you've done."

Mary was finally speechless, her defences broken, any further responses melting away. She could have been standing in the middle of the library or on a cliff's edge. She felt utterly and completely alone.

"I'll write to my Mama for you," Cora continued, her voice strained. "We can arrange a crossing once we have her answer."

Mary lifted her chin, struggling to keep the tears at bay.

"No!" Sybil cried, stepping forward.

"Sybil," Robert warned.

"Mary says it didn't happen!" Sybil moved to Mary's side. "I believe her!"

"Sybil!" Cora said in warning.

"But Mama! You can't allow them to send Mary away if she didn't…" Sybil pleaded.

"That's enough, Sybil!" Robert shouted.

Sybil shook from her father's scolding.

"We have made our decision," James said. "And our decision is final. I do hope that you and Sybil learn from this sordid lesson, Edith," James said authoritatively as he looked at Edith and Sybil. "In the end, all we have is each other, and none of us are above this House. Betrayal and disloyalty shall not be tolerated. As the family motto says, "_Pari Passu_." And then though it wasn't necessary to translate, James continued, "_With equal step_."

Mary turned fully to stand facing Cousin James, Patrick standing slightly behind him. Her eyes blazed as she stared at them unblinkingly. James frowned as he looked back at the source of all of his son's despair. His expression was cold, his mind going over all the acts of defiance, all the insults and snide remarks, all the ways in which Mary had refused to accept his power and position.

Mary's eyes filled with rage, her lips pursed in a thin line, her chin raised in superiority. At first, James and Patrick mistook her glare for petulance and shock, but they quickly realized the determination, the resolve and the challenge in her face.

James blinked first.

"Carson," James spat, looking away from Mary. "Escort Lady Mary to her room. She'll be kept there until arrangements are made for her departure. She'll take her meals there and shall not be permitted to go anywhere unescorted. And her sisters shall not visit her without being properly chaperoned either. She'll be permitted the continued use of her lady's maid, however all correspondence sent by the servants shall be closely monitored. We can't have Lady Mary passing messages or being seen in the Village in case any vile rumours should surface. To the outside world, Mary is no longer a part of this House as of now, and it shall soon be made official."

The butler approached Mary with sad eyes and a downcast expression. Mary turned to him and saw his shoulders sag as if a heavy weight had suddenly been thrust upon his back.

"Please, my Lady," Carson said quietly, despite his stoicism, his eyes were noticeably wet.

Mary turned and walked briskly from the library, not meeting anyone's gaze. She did not cry until she was back in her bedroom.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I still can't believe it played out as it did," Matthew said softly, holding Mary tightly against him.<p>

"Sadly, I can," Mary whispered.

"Would you have really gone to America?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head, feeling his warm chest against her cheek. "I was at a loss when Aunt Rosamund wrote to say that rumours had already reached London. But, I couldn't imagine leaving England. Thank God that Granny suggested coming here to stay with my Godfather, although I don't think she expected it would turn out the way it did. Still, she really had no say in the matter. All she could do was order Lord Merton to take me in and provide my stipend. Even she couldn't tell him to take me in and treat me properly. And why would he? No one wants an outcast living under their roof."

"You know I sometimes see him at the hospital or at different events. If you only knew how many times I wanted to punch him in the face," Matthew frowned.

"And you'll do nothing of the sort," Mary smiled, leaning up and kissing him softly. "I can't have you thrown in jail for assault. How would I be able to come visit you when we aren't supposed to know each other?"

"Even still," Matthew said grudgingly. "How he could…"

"I don't want to talk about him, or about any of my family," Mary said, settling back down against his chest. "I'm thankful I was sent here, and I'm thankful that Lord Merton didn't take me into his house, and I'm thankful that none of them care what I do or where I go. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, with you."

"It hardly seems fair that you should have to settle for me as a consolation prize," Matthew said, his tone somewhere between mirth and sadness.

Mary moved on top of him and kissed him, her hands moving into his hair. Matthew groaned as he felt her breasts rub against his skin, the heat of their bodies pressed together. Mary smiled against his lips as his arousal stirred beneath her.

"It isn't fair at all," she whispered. "Your love is far more valuable than any title, and I do not deserve it, Matthew."

"Mary…" he began.

"Stop talking," Mary smiled, kissing him again and reaching her hand between their bodies. Matthew gasped as she took hold of him. His eyes clouded over and pleasure coursed through him.

"I seem to recall that I won our bet, and now I shall enjoy my prize," she said, licking his ear.

Matthew's hands grasped her hips and Mary groaned before kissing him hard once more.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I gather you have read your Aunt Rosamund's letter?" Violet asked. She had timed her visit for when James and Patrick had taken a ride together and were not present at the Abbey. It had been easy to gain access to her granddaughter when Carson held the keys.<p>

"Yes," Mary nodded, her voice quiet. "How did everyone find out so quickly?"

"How do you think?" Violet scoffed. "Nothing moves faster than gossip, my dear. And gossip sent with bad intentions moves quickest of all."

"So it's true then?" Mary asked. "Everyone's heard that I took a Turk for a lover."

"No one will admit to it publically, I'm sure," Violet said sadly. "But by spring it will be common knowledge. That is why you are being exiled. If you are not with us when we go to London for the Season in June, and are not present for the Garden Party in August, all will assume you were cast out, and the Crawley name will be saved."

"No one will wonder where I've gone?" Mary frowned.

"Cousin James will take care of that, I am sure," Violet huffed. "But once your story is out there, no one will make inquiries. No one wants to be seen to be interested in such sordid details."

"I don't want to go to America," Mary said firmly, thought her composure was breaking a little.

"Of course you don't!" Violet agreed. "I wouldn't want to go to Heaven if it meant living with your Grandmamma."

"That's not what I meant, Granny," Mary rolled her eyes. "I don't want to leave England. This is my home, whether I am cast out or not."

"I expected that you would feel that way," Violet smiled. "But you can't go to London, Mary. Around every corner, there will be a scornful eye cast in your direction. No, you need to find somewhere that few know of you, and even fewer still would care about your story even if they were to hear about it."

"Where would that be?" Mary asked. "Northumberland?"

Violet smiled knowingly. "Manchester."

"Manchester?" Mary recoiled. "Isn't that worse than America? Modern and industrial, and socialist on top of that?"

"Yes, I know it's a rather dull looking town, but you could make a fresh start there, and it's large enough that there will be opportunities for you. In addition, you already have allies there."

"Godfather!" Mary said.

Violet nodded. "He knows he can't refuse me. It isn't ideal, of course, but all will be well, Mary. All will be well."

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary pulled the blanket across her breasts, running her hand through her tousled hair and smiling as Matthew came back to bed with a silver tray.<p>

"The waiter probably thinks you have a tart in here with the number of times we spend the night in this suite," she teased. "Not to mention ordering room service at all hours."

"I'm afraid you're probably right. Half the staff likely thinks the only way I could ever have such a beautiful woman go upstairs with me is to pay for it," Matthew smiled, kissing her. He ran his hand along her cheek, then through her hair.

"Matthew!" Mary laughed. "Don't touch my hair! You've already made it untidy."

"Good," he said, raising his eyebrows at her before feeding her a strawberry.

"You and your strawberries," Mary laughed. She looked at him playfully before opening her mouth and taking another bite of fruit, deliberately running her tongue across his fingers and receiving the desired response.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Kardomah Café, Market Street, Manchester, England, March 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew looked up as the door opened. Expecting to see his Mother, he blinked several times in confusion, then nervously rose to his feet. He put on his most polite smile and tried to still his fidgeting fingers.<p>

"Mary," Matthew nodded his head. "Good afternoon."

"Matthew," Mary smiled in surprise. "Hello."

"A lovely surprise to see you here. Are you meeting someone?" Matthew asked awkwardly.

"Yes," Mary answered, slightly nervous herself. "Your mother actually asked me to meet her here for tea once my shift was over.

"Mother invited you?" Matthew frowned. "That's strange. She told me to meet her here for…oh…" Matthew shook his head.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"Nothing," Matthew sighed. "Please, have a seat."

Matthew pulled a chair back for her and Mary sat down. Matthew returned to his seat and sat down with a resigned sigh.

Mary looked at him curiously and Matthew struggled to smile bravely at her.

"I apologize, Mary," Matthew stammered. "It appears that my Mother has been presumptuous and you have fallen victim to her daydreaming."

"I don't understand," Mary smirked. "What presumptions?"

"Both of my parents are rather eager to see me…well, settled, with a woman," Matthew said, his face blushing. "It's the unfortunate reality of being an only child, and a son at that. My parents think every beautiful woman they meet is a perfect match for their son."

Mary looked down at her hands and smiled.

"I'm sorry if she's inconvenienced you," Matthew said glumly. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Don't leave on my account. The tea service here is quite lovely. You should enjoy it. I'll gladly pay for it and be on my way."

Matthew reached for his hat, his face a light shade of crimson now.

"Do you really think me beautiful?" Mary asked pointedly, looking straight at him.

"Pardon?" Matthew asked shakily.

"You said that your parents think every beautiful woman they meet is a perfect match for you. So, do you think me beautiful, or do you think that only your parents see me that way?" Mary asked.

Matthew swallowed, completely enraptured by her playful dark brown eyes and the slight curl to her lips.

"Certainly I do find you beautiful, Mary," Matthew replied, his face showing the unmistakable honesty of his words. "Very much so."

"Thank you, Matthew," Mary smiled, an entirely pleased expression crossing her face. "Now, it seems to me that we both are scheduled to have tea this afternoon, and the fact that Mrs. Crawley is not here should not deter us, should it?"

Matthew's eyes widened. "No! That is, no, it shouldn't."

"Unless of course, you have somewhere more important to be?" Mary teased.

"No!" Matthew almost shouted, before he composed himself. Mary held back a chuckle. "I would very much enjoy having tea with you, Mary."

Mary looked down at her hands again, a blush coming to her cheeks.

Matthew called for the waiter.

"We'll take tea please," Matthew said politely. "Earl Grey for me, and, I'm sorry, would Darjeeling be acceptable, Mary?" he asked her.

Mary smiled. "Yes, Matthew, that would be splendid."

"Darjeeling for the Lady, please," Matthew told the waiter. "We'll also have sandwiches and scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam, please. And if you have any fresh strawberries, I wouldn't mind a bowl, as well."

"Superb choice, sir," the waiter nodded and walked away.

"Fresh strawberries with tea?" Mary asked.

"I know it's quite unheard of," Matthew chuckled. "I have an affinity for strawberries. Something about the sweetness of them, I suppose. Jam is usually not enough."

"Interesting," Mary commented, smiling at him. "Do you have them with anything in particular?"

"Sometimes with the cream," Matthew answered. "But I rather prefer them naked," he said, smiling to himself. His eyes widened as he realized what he said aloud. "That is, I prefer them without any accompaniment," he recovered.

"I rather enjoy them with chocolate myself," Mary said easily, smiling at his choice of words. She was flirting! She was flirting with Matthew! Somehow she expected that their banter would make her feel uncomfortable or that some part of her would want to restrain herself, to not travel down a road that he seemed more than willing to go. However, no censure or warning came to her.

"Strawberries with chocolate," Matthew repeated. "That seems as though it would be very sweet, Mary," he said.

"Sinfully so, Matthew," Mary answered. "But if you don't think you can handle it, then perhaps you shouldn't try."

"I always enjoy a challenge," Matthew said, fixing his blue eyes upon her. "I'm not afraid of indulging in something sweet from time to time. Though I wouldn't dare attempt it without proper supervision."

Their tea was served and they both paused to collect themselves as their fine china cups were filled. Mary sipped the hot liquid, a delicious warmth washing over her. She lifted her eyes and met Matthew's stare once again. Those blue eyes. Something about them was disarming and trustworthy. Perhaps it was the fact he was clearly more nervous and awkward than she was. Perhaps it was that she had been living alone in this strange city for almost two months now and it was only Matthew and his family that had shown her any kindness. Perhaps it was that she was tired of feeling angry all the time, tired of being suspicious of everyone, tired of feeling as though everyone around her had an ulterior motive.

"Maybe I can interest you in showing me this delicacy sometime?" Matthew asked, his voice adoringly shaky and his blue eyes revealing a hopefulness that was cute and unlike any glance Mary had ever seen from a man.

"Maybe you will," Mary smiled back, sipping her tea.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew blinked, opening his eyes wearily as he heard an insistent knock at the door. He roused himself to wake. He kissed Mary's forehead, hugging her briefly, smiling as he felt her soft breasts against his chest and her hand along his stomach. He pulled away and got out of bed, slipping on his robe as he stumbled out of the bedroom, across the salon, and into the foyer.<p>

"Mr. Crawley," a valet nodded to him once he opened the door. "Your picnic basket is ready, sir."

Matthew blinked several times before his brain properly deciphered what the valet was saying. "Oh, right. What time is it?"

"It's almost noon, sir," the valet replied.

"Thank you. If you could have the basket brought to the concierge desk in about an hour, we'll be leaving then. We'll also need a taxi," Matthew said.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley," the valet acknowledged, then left to carry out his instructions.

Matthew closed the door and wandered back to the bedroom, yawning before sliding back under the covers and pulling Mary's naked body back towards him.

"What was that all about?" Mary asked sleepily.

"It was one of the valets," Matthew said, smiling lazily. "I forgot that I arranged a surprise for you."

"Another one?" Mary smiled, kissing his cheek before settling back into the crook of his shoulder. "I'm afraid I'm quite worn out from all of your surprises from last night."

"Well this shall rejuvenate you, darling," Matthew smiled, caressing her bare back. "I've had them prepare a picnic lunch for us and we can head over to park. I know this secluded spot that is perfect for our purposes."

"Insatiable man," Mary laughed, running her fingers along his chest. "That does sound lovely. Are we returning here for dinner? If so, I'll need to go back home and change."

"No," Matthew said. "Mother and Papa will be back from the country later today, so I expect we'll have dinner with them, if that's all right."

"Of course it is," Mary smiled, her eyes still closed. "I'll have had enough of you by then."

"I beg to disagree," Matthew smiled. "But we can put that statement to the test when I take you home afterward."

"You need to take a bath," Mary smiled, kissing him softly.

"You're right," Matthew said. "Care to wash my back?"

Mary opened her eyes and looked at the wicked grin on his face. "Only if you wash mine," she said, kissing him softly.

"Of course," Matthew replied. He sat up and before Mary could do the same, he picked her up in his arms and carried her out of bed. Mary laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She rolled her eyes at him as his hand ghosted from her legs to slap playfully at her bottom.

"I am prepared to give you a quite thorough cleaning, my darling," he said, kissing her as he walked into the bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

_**St. Peter's Square, Manchester, England, August 1912**_

* * *

><p>Mary waited patiently outside the store. Matthew was standing by the kerb, flagging down a taxi for them. She watched him from under the awning, admiring his broad shoulders and firm back, his blond hair almost as styled as hers, hidden beneath a distinguished hat. If they were a normal couple, they would have waited in the lobby of the Midland for a doorman to both fetch their taxi and call them over. But Matthew knew that Mary required secrecy, and so while he retuned the picnic basket to the concierge, she had left the hotel without him to wait in a more crowded area of the bustling public square. It was easier for Matthew to call a taxi from here, and for Mary to stay out of sight. The hotel staff was already becoming quite familiar with seeing Mr. Crawley and his dark haired female friend. It was wiser to lessen the number of times that they were seen coming and going from the place together. However, just because it was wise to be more discrete did not make things any easier.<p>

Mary sighed as Matthew successfully caught a taxi's attention and waited for it to approach. How many men would be so understanding? How many men would barely question when a woman said that yes, she did want to be with him, but no, they could not be public about their relationship? How many men would be so steadfast, so loyal, so accommodating? Sometimes she looked at Matthew and wondered nervously if he felt it was all worth it or not, if _she _was worth all of the effort?

The taxi stopped at the kerb and Matthew looked back at her. He quirked his eyebrows playfully and nodded his head towards the door of the car. Mary smirked to herself as she walked briskly into the sunshine, crossed the sidewalk and disappeared into the taxi. Instructions were given to the driver and they were soon on their way, Matthew's hand moving carefully over and taking hold of hers, out of sight of the driver. They each turned away and looked out the window on their respective sides of the taxi, their gloved hands still linked. These little gestures of his were common now, and Mary smiled to herself at their secret touch, the understanding between them that went unspoken. Perhaps Matthew shouldn't go to so much trouble for her, she thought, but she knew for certain that _he_ was entirely worth every effort she could make.

"That was a lovely picnic," Mary said nonchalantly, still keeping her gaze away from him.

"The weather was perfect," Matthew agreed. "I'm just sorry we had to leave the park so soon."

Mary squeezed his hand in understanding. Even though they were not looking at each other, she knew that disappointment was showing on Matthew's face. They were no longer in their suite at the hotel, or in their private grove at the park. They were back in public and under the strict rules of formal decorum. It was understandable that Matthew was reluctant to leave the park. When he had finally declared they needed to get back to the hotel and on home, she was sitting against his chest and playing idly with his hair.

Matthew remained quiet as the taxi travelled down the familiar path to the Crawley home. It was rather endearing how consistent he was. Anything that kept them apart annoyed him, and though his patience was remarkable in some ways, in others it was humorously short.

"I'm so relieved that the hot spell has abated," Mary continued. "The sunshine is nice, but I could do without as much heat."

"It's not so bad," Matthew said quietly.

"Oh?" Mary asked, surprised by his response.

"I've gotten used to it," he replied. "I've become used to feeling quite heated in your presence."

Mary dared to look at him then. She rolled her eyes playfully and grinned. He was far from poetic in his delivery of romantic lines, but that only made him more irresistible to her. Mary was used to the polished and immaculately mannered suitors of her youth. They all had something to hide and in the end were a disappointment to her. Since her arrival in Manchester, she was becoming more and more comfortable with the attractiveness of awkward and genuine.

"I still can't believe that your mother was able to convince your father to go to the country to see her cousins," Mary smiled. "He was probably short of breath the moment he left the Manchester city limits."

Matthew smirked and his hand moved from hers to gently caress her knee. Mary glared at him, then checked to make sure the driver was still oblivious to them. When she saw he was still focused on the road, she reached out and squeezed Matthew's thigh before drawing her hand back. The look on his face made her smile triumphantly.

"I'm sure he was a delight," Matthew chuckled. "Mother does like a bit of authority, and one thing about Crawley men, we do seem to capitulate to our women rather easily."

Mary smirked and shared a knowing glance with him. He turned to look at the driver. Mary's pulse jumped a bit. She could see the debate inside of him. Was he actually thinking of stealing a kiss while the driver was looking away from them?

Matthew was about to turn back to her when something caught his attention. He looked out the window on her side of the car and a beaming smile crept across his face.

"Darling," Mary whispered. "What is it?"

"My apologies, Mary," Matthew said as he looked back at her with a grin. "I just noticed our bench, and I was reliving a rather pleasant memory."

"But, it's not sunset," Mary teased, raising her eyebrow and biting her lower lip as she smirked at him.

"All of our kisses are at sunset in my mind," Matthew teased back.

Mary pushed her hair behind her ear and smiled as she remembered that moment. Had it really been over a year already since their first kiss?

"It's a wonder that I let you kiss me," she smiled. "Considering that everything about our date was far from romantic."

"Well, I was determined to salvage something of the evening," Matthew chuckled. "All of my previous efforts to impress you had gone awry."

"That's not true," Mary scolded him. "I was very impressed by you at the Café."

"That wasn't technically part of our date yet," Matthew noted. "Which is probably why, it was a much larger success as I wasn't trying so much during tea. I learned to my dismay that I'm not as suave as I once thought."

"That is putting it mildly," Mary smiled as she allowed him to take her hand again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fletcher Moss Botanical Garden, Manchester, England, April 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"The entrance to the garden is magnificent," Matthew said enthusiastically. "A striking example of Neo-Norman architecture from the 12th century, note its stone arched gate topped with an eagle effigy."<p>

Mary's eyes were bright and playful as she listened to him. She was amused at his eager tone of voice and pride in his hometown surroundings. In London during her Season she had met men who loved the sound of their own voices, but that was not the case with Matthew. Everything that evening had been directed towards her, as though he were trying to keep her interested by his enthusiasm alone. And it was becoming contagious.

She had worried about whether to accept his invitation to luncheon or not. They had a lovely time at tea, talking and laughing so easily. He seemed so interested in her opinions, asking her about her role at the hospital and what she thought of different doctors and staff that he knew. She did not offer much explanation about her past, and he did not pry, content to go at her pace and allow the conversation to go where it would. There had been very few silent pauses between them all afternoon.

She reasoned that having luncheon with Matthew was not particularly significant. The food had been tasty and the conversation once again enjoyable, but when he nervously asked her what her plans were for the rest of the day, she realized he had put far more thought into their appointment than simply eating. She weighed the options of returning to Lady Philomena's house and sitting it the attic until dinner or continuing to enjoy Matthew's company. It was a startlingly easy choice to make.

After luncheon Matthew took her to the Manchester Art Gallery. The Gallery visit led to dinner, and dinner had now turned into this early evening walk. She was not afraid that she would run into Lord Merton or anyone who would find it curious to see her walking with a man unchaperoned. The entire day spent with Matthew had made her forget about the shackles of her former life that had been narrow and judgmental, polite manners and yet nasty assumptions; a world that had cast her out without hesitation. She found that she could banter with Matthew, even tease and challenge him, and he would not back down, or take anything personally. Although he barely knew how to hold his knife like a gentleman, he was so vivacious, and she couldn't help but play along.

"The ancient stone gate," Matthew continued gesturing to the moss covered structure, "was once a part of a hotel that was demolished when I was a boy. The garden's proprietor rescued it and it's been here ever since, ancient and modern times commingled together."

The ground was like wilderness in comparison to the manicured lawns of Downton Abbey. But the wildflowers were charming and the setting was appealing if not unusual. Such a strange place, this large park in the middle of the city.

"Here," Matthew said gallantly. "Take my hand."

Mary blushed and looked away, her gloved hand sliding into his lightly. There was something so honest about Matthew. She could think of any number of men who, if they ordered her to take their hand, she would have slapped them in reply. But Matthew seemed so unassuming.

"I know a shortcut," Matthew said confidently and he led her through a small clearing.

Mary held the hem of her dress as they passed by what she presumed was a blackberry bush without any fruit. The lower branches brushed against their legs. This was quite the adventure, she thought wryly to herself. Just two months ago she would be taking tea with her Mama and Granny or putting Diamond through his paces in the fields. Now she was traipsing through brush and not minding it at all.

She looked about the garden and saw many other people enjoying the public space. It didn't seem possible to be escaping the bustle of the Manchester streets with only a few steps into this green space. She was pleasantly surprised by this city with each new discovery, her initial prejudice and assumption that this was just some industrial backwater fading away. When they reached the rock garden, she saw flowers and plants that she did not recognize, and she found she was rather looking forward to Matthew explaining them to her. She had to shake her head and wonder at her response to this man. He was making her forget herself, which given her recent past, was a quite welcome occurrence.

"My father calls this location the new Hanging Gardens, and Manchester the new Babylon," Matthew said with a boyish grin. "He can be a bit of a dreamer, as you may have noticed."

"Yes," she said lightly. "Are you a dreamer, Matthew? Or are you more practical?"

"I'll say I'm more of a dreamer, if that's one of my father's qualities that you find endearing," Matthew chuckled. "Although I will admit that I am forced to be more of a pragmatist by trade. Since we're outside of the office and the hospital, it doesn't seem so wrong to get swept away a little bit, does it?"

"No. No, it doesn't," Mary replied. Even when Matthew said something ridiculous, it sounded fun and playful. God, what was happening to her?

Matthew let go of her hand as they reached a makeshift boardwalk covering a shallow stream. Mary frowned at the wood planks that were creating a makeshift boardwalk.

"You first," he said with a chivalrous bow. "I want to show you the gingko tree on the other side. I always have picnics with my parents there."

Mary looked with uncertainly at the wet, muddy, well worn boards. Lady Mary Crawley setting foot in mud. This was a different world she had landed in, clearly. She took comfort in the knowledge that this was a well-travelled path, somewhere Matthew's parents evidently frequently crossed. Narrowing her eyes, she took the few steps across quickly, holding her breath for fear she would have an embarrassing tumble. However, she crossed without incident and stepped on to the solid grass covered ground on the other side. Turning around triumphantly, Mary turned back to Matthew. His gaze was fixed upon her, a boyish grin across his lips. She tried to look away demurely. His eyes were unlike any she had ever seen before, and she was a Lady – she had seen plenty of men in her time.

Blushing slightly at how he seemed to be captivated and almost staring at her, Mary realized belatedly that he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. She opened her mouth to warn him to be careful, but before she could voice her alert, Matthew lost his footing and tripped into the shallow creek with a surprised grunt.

"Matthew!" Mary called, stepping back across the path to make sure he was all right. As she came to him, she slipped on the muddy boards and fell on top of him, the breath flying from his lungs as his hands came up to break her fall.

"Mary," Matthew whispered, his eyes wide and his lips parted. She was sitting atop him now, her one hand on her hat and her other on his shoulder. She thought vaguely that she had been spared soaking her entire dress as only the hem had hit the stream thanks to Matthew being under her. She swallowed as she stared into his eyes, thoughts of sitting astride him in a running stream seeming quite unimportant suddenly.

"I'm sorry, Mary," Matthew said softly, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. "That was rather reckless of me."

"You're not the only one behaving badly, apparently," she whispered back, unsure as to what to do next.

Matthew cleared his throat. "Go ahead and stand up. I'll help you to the other side and we can dry off."

Mary rose as gracefully as she could manage, which only caused her to blush more fiercely as it involved standing above Matthew. He scrambled to his feet, his suit soaked through. He guided her to the shore with a hand at her back. She did not know whether she was shivering from the water or from his touch.

Matthew hung his wet jacket on a branch and motioned Mary to a bench in the sun for them to dry off.

"I must say that I have not been a very impressive date thus far," Matthew shook his head as he took a seat beside her. His eyes then went wide as he realized he was speaking out loud. He glanced at Mary nervously. She looked back at him, studying his expression.

"Oh, I don't know," she smiled. "It's certainly been one of my more memorable dates."

"I assume you speak in the form of mockery," Matthew said carefully.

"You should have more faith," Mary smirked. Her heart fluttered the same way it had when they flirted in the Café just days ago.

"Need I remind you that I just made an absolute spectacle of myself?" Matthew said, looking pointedly at her. "I expect that will live in your memory for months, as fresh as the day it happened."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary laughed genuinely. "You'll just have to replace that with a happier memory, won't you? Aren't you Mancs supposed to be resilient? Always up for a challenge?"

"Always, Mary," Matthew smirked. "But if I'm to replace the memory of my clumsiness, then we should see more of each other."

She looked away as a blush creeped across her face. Perhaps Matthew Crawley was more suave than he was letting on.

He eventually did show her the gingko tree and the small grove where his family took picnics. The view was majestic, with the entire park spread out before them, as though the entire panorama of nature was on show just for them. After some more delightful conversation, he offered to escort her out of the park with the intention of getting her a taxi to take her home. Their clothes had dried in the sun, although she suspected Matthew was much more uncomfortable than she was. He kept scratching his arms, probably because he could not fully dry himself without removing his shirt. Mary swallowed slightly at the visual image that came to her mind. She had a dull ache along her calves, but nothing overly troublesome.

Their fall in the stream aside, the day's outing had been quite fun. They had talked, laughed and shared stories, and Mary did not take these simple pleasures for granted anymore.

Before they reached the park entrance, Matthew stopped and turned to her. "Can I entice you to sit and watch the sunset?" he offered, his voice tentative. He pointed to a bench overlooking the park with the sun clearly lower on the horizon.

"Do you like watching the sunset? I used to watch it with my sisters just before dinner," Mary said pleasantly. She sat down and as Matthew took the spot next to her, she wondered what her Granny would say if she could see her now – sitting on a bench in Manchester with a handsome man with no title and who worked as a lawyer for a living.

"I do," Matthew said nostalgically. "It is my favourite time of day, when colours are their brightest, and yet there is something out there seemingly as the sun sets past the horizon. It's like a puzzle to be solved."

Mary was quiet as she discreetly rubbed her shoe against her leg, both enraptured by his words and at the satisfaction of scratching the itch.

"Did you know in English, points of the compass are derived from sunrise and sunset? Orient and Occident are from Latin meaning, sunrise and sunset," Matthew continued.

"I believe I was taught that at some point when I was younger," Mary replied. "Have you seen Claude Monet's paintings of a sunset?"

"Yes, I have," Matthew said fondly. "Although I prefer Turner, and not just because he is British."

Mary smiled at his strong opinion as she found herself staring into his eager expression, his blue eyes and that piece of blond hair perpetually falling on his forehead. She looked away to avoid gazing at him too much. She caught the sun on the horizon and smiled. Such a simple thing, taking the time to watch the sunset, and yet for Mary it was as though she was being granted a moment of peace – where she did not have to think of who she was, what had happened to her, and what her future held. She could just sit and watch the sunset and enjoy some lovely company.

"Today was quite splendid, after all," she said idly.

"Today is quite splendid, yes," Matthew replied.

She turned her head towards him.

"Have you forgotten your spill then?" she teased.

"No, I haven't forgotten," Matthew shook his head. "It's just that today has been so full of memories that I find I can leave that one alone."

"Truly?" Mary asked, her voice becoming quiet. "And what would you call the best one then?"

"I have several," Matthew answered. He licked his lips and swallowed nervously and Mary's eyes widened, unable to look away from his tongue darting across his lips.

"Have you found any pleasant memories, Mary?" he asked softly.

Mary nodded her head. "I must admit that this current moment is growing quite memorable."

Matthew leaned forward. Mary closed her eyes. He hesitated. She held her breath. His lips bushed against her softly and carefully, as though he were afraid of doing it wrong, or being rejected or both. He held the kiss for a moment, then pulled back. Mary opened her eyes.

"I hope I haven't ruined everything," Matthew whispered.

Mary blushed as she realized how inappropriate it was to be kissing a gentleman in a public park. She dropped her gaze and shook her head.

"No," she smiled, unable to look up at him. "The opposite, in fact."

Matthew looked away, smiling widely. He scratched his arm again, then frowned as he pulled the cuff of his shirt back from his wrist. He leaned back on the bench and sighed.

"I hope that that you deem that last moment a happy one, because I'm afraid I have something else to apologize for," Matthew said with a sheepish smile.

"Oh?" Mary inquired, her fingers nervously fiddling with her necklace.

"The shortcut that I took you through earlier, on our way to the crossing and the gingko tree. It seems to have led us through some poison ivy," he said apologetically.

Mary's eyes widened in shock. Poison ivy? She shuddered to think of the rash that must now be spreading across her delicate skin.

"I'm so sorry, Mary," Matthew said. "I should have just stayed on the path and gone the long way around. I'm not usually this absent minded, or clumsy, or awkward, or…"

"It's all right, Matthew," Mary smiled, touching his hand. "I think enough went right today to convince me that you're not a lost cause, for now."

He smiled in relief.

"And I believe I know a doctor who can deal with our condition," she smiled. "Shall we go and see him?"

"Yes," Matthew nodded in surprise. "I'll get us a taxi."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Master Matthew, Lady Mary," Davis nodded as they entered the foyer.<p>

"Davis," Matthew smiled and nodded at the family butler. "Lady Mary will be joining us for dinner. I expect that Mother already informed you?"

"She did, sir," Davis nodded. "Mrs. Crawley told me to send you through to the salon when you arrived. She's expecting both of you."

"Right, then," Matthew said pleasantly. "Thank you, Davis."

"Sir, Lady Mary," Davis nodded.

Mary frowned slightly as she followed Matthew across the foyer towards the salon. Unlike the stoic demeanour of her beloved Carson, Davis always seemed to be jovial and pleasant – for a butler anyway. His clipped tone made his seem edgy, but Matthew appeared not to have noticed it.

It was also odd that they were going to meet Isobel in the salon. The salon was used for entertaining guests or having drinks after dinner. Matthew's parents were rarely there unless they had guests over to the house. Even Mary did not set foot there, usually just going through to the library or dining room with Matthew whenever she was over.

When they reached the small but tastefully furnished room, Mary and Matthew stopped short. To their surprise, Isobel was not alone. Mary dropped her hand from Matthew's grasp and stood slightly behind him.

"Ah, Matthew," Isobel smiled politely. "Dr. Boyd was just leaving."

"Matthew, good to see you again," the doctor smiled, rising from his chair.

"Thank you for coming, Albert," Isobel nodded to him.

"No trouble at all, Isobel. I'll see myself out. I'll speak to you tomorrow," Dr. Boyd replied, then nodded to Matthew and left.

Mary was thankful that Isobel had not called attention her presence and that Dr. Boyd had apparently not paid her much heed as he passed them on his way out.

"Was Dr. Boyd here to see Father?" Matthew asked offhandedly as he crossed the room and sat down. He picked up a book off the side table and leafed through it idly.

Mary took a seat on the chair next to Matthew's. She looked over at Isobel. Matthew's mother was sitting up rigidly in her chair, her hands were clasped together in her lap.

"Yes," Isobel replied plainly, watching Matthew read his book. "Dr. Boyd was here to see your Father."

"He's upstairs I expect. Resting? Was it a long journey back from the country?" Matthew asked, still looking through the book.

"No, we left early and were able to get home this morning. We've been home for most of the day, actually," Isobel said evenly.

Mary eyed both of them warily. Matthew was flipping pages with a bored expression. Isobel was watching him intently.

"Matthew, put away the book," Mary said kindly. "Your mother asked us to come to the salon. She must have something important to tell us."

Isobel glanced over at Mary and thanked her with her eyes. Mary only nodded in acknowledgment.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Matthew said quickly, putting the book back on the table. "I must be getting hungry. I'm forgetting my manners. Did you have something you needed to tell us?"

"Yes," Isobel nodded. "I'm glad you came back for dinner. I'm sorry if it's interrupted your weekend."

"Not at all," Mary answered with a smile. "I was getting a bit tired of your son anyway."

Matthew chuckled and shook his head at her joke.

Isobel looked down at her hands, her face neutral.

Mary's pulse sped up slightly.

"There's something you must know, and I felt it imperative to tell you immediately once you arrived. I didn't want to wait for dinner," Isobel continued.

"That sounds serious," Matthew answered, looking over at Mary with a smirk, then frowning as he realized that Mary was not sharing his bemusement. She was looking at Isobel with concern.

"It's about Dr. Crawley, isn't it?" Mary asked quietly.

Isobel closed her eyes and exhaled. She could only nod slightly while at the same time her head shook back and forth.

"What about Father?" Matthew frowned, looking from Mary back to Isobel. "Mother? Have you received word from Murray regarding the entail? Has the Earl summoned him formally?"

"No," Isobel said calmly, opening her eyes and looking at her son once more. "It has nothing to do with that business at all."

Mary's throat felt dry.

"Your father is sick, Matthew," Isobel declared, looking at him seriously. "He has been ill for some time now, but he didn't want to burden you with it, either of you," she said, glancing over at Mary.

"Sick?" Matthew frowned. "Papa is never sick. What is it? How long before he recovers?"

"Matthew," Isobel closed her eyes again, her voice wavering. When she opened them again, they appeared tired and vacant. "It's cancer."

Mary gasped and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

Matthew's eyes widened in shock. He stared blankly for a long moment.

"It's gotten into his lungs," Isobel said slowly. "At first it was mostly fatigue and lack of energy. Things that could be explained away and were not as noticeable. Recently it's gotten much worse, shortness of breath, disorientation, intense bouts of coughing. The trip to my cousin's wasn't a family visit. We were meeting with some of your father's old colleagues from school, discussing treatment options. We returned this morning and he could barely make it in the door without gasping for air. We put him to bed and he's been there all day. That's when I called Albert to come see him."

Mary blinked, remembering now where she had seen Dr. Boyd before. He was the head of oncology at the hospital.

"But those symptoms could mean anything, Mother!" Matthew snapped. "He may just need to slow down a bit. Perhaps he's just been working too hard, or it's something in the air, something he breathed in, something…"

"Something he smoked, Matthew," Isobel said sadly.

Matthew's mouth hung open. Mary closed her eyes.

"How long have you known?" Matthew asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Mary's eyes went to him. He looked at Isobel, and Mary cringed as he appeared so childlike to her now, his eyes pleading, his lips, that had given her such pleasure just hours ago now quivering in fear.

"He suspected something last Fall," Isobel said. "At first we thought it was just stress or not getting enough rest, perhaps even the flu with the change in the season. But he never really got better. It only got worse. By Christmas, he knew it was more serious, but he didn't want to tell you. We weren't completely sure, and he didn't want either of you to worry about him."

Matthew turned to Mary, a silent exchange passing between them through their eyes. Christmas of last year. Christmas 1911. She had always thought of her first Christmas with Matthew's family as a joyous occasion. But Matthew's parents were guarding his father's secret so that she and Matthew could enjoy themselves. She tasted bitterness in her mouth and her hands seemed to be shaking.

"He'll be angry with me for telling you now," Isobel sighed. "But I wanted both of you to know. Albert doesn't think he has much time left, Matthew. I'm certain your father knows that as well. If he had his way, he would continue this scheme and leave us silently in the night, but I know you wouldn't want that and I know it's not right; not anymore. So I'm telling you now, both of you."

Mary and Matthew looked at Isobel. They were at a loss to say anything.

"But," Matthew said, grasping for something, anything to change what his mother had revealed.

"Your father is dying, Matthew," Isobel said, her voice small and weak. "There's not much that can be done. He has a blockage in his lungs and fluid is building up behind it. Within a week or so, he'll have pneumonia. And shortly after that…"

Isobel's eyes were sad and dark as she looked from her son to Mary and back to Matthew. Mary never saw Isobel as old and frail, even though she was as old as her Granny. She was a force, showing more energy than nurses half her age. As Mary looked at her now, she saw her as a wife and mother, and the strength that Mary admired so much seemed to be draining out of her.

"Shortly after that, he'll be gone," Isobel finished and looked down at her lap.

Mary got up from her chair and crossed the gap to Matthew. She placed her hand on his shoulder. His hand flew up immediately and covered hers, his grip hard and firm. He stared at the ground, his brow creased and his breathing growing quicker.

"I have Mrs. Bird making a soup for him," Isobel said, rising to her feet. "I'm going to go up and see him and tell him what I've done. After a few minutes, I want you to go up and see him, Matthew. He'll have much to say to you, now that you know the truth. I'll send Mary up shortly after you've had time to talk to your father. He'll want to speak to you as well, Mary."

"Mother," Matthew choked out. He could not lift his eyes from the floor.

"We'll talk later, Matthew," Isobel said kindly. "I need to go see your father. And you need to prepare yourself to talk to him as well."

Isobel left the room. Matthew's eyes remained fixed on the floor. Mary felt his body begin to shake. She knelt down beside him, her arm going across his back and her hand lightly touching his cheek as she turned him to face her.

"Darling, I'm so sorry," Mary sighed, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

Matthew pulled her into his arms, clutching her desperately. She came to him immediately, sitting on his lap. She held his head against her shoulder and ran her hands through his hair and along his back soothingly.

"Mary, I…how can…" he gasped, unable to speak any further words.

"It's all right," Mary said, stroking her hand up and down his back. "You don't need to pretend with me, Matthew."

Matthew unleashed a painful sob into her shoulder. He pulled her tighter against him and she held him closer.

"Mary," he wailed, his tears running down his cheeks and falling on to her blouse.

His sobs became groans, and as he held her, he shut his eyes tight and cried and cried.

"I'm here, Matthew," Mary repeated softly as his body quaked against her. Her own tears fell as she lowered her lips and kissed the top of his head.

"I'm here."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fletcher Moss Botanical Garden, Manchester, England August 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"There is no stigma or shame for anyone to ask us for help now, as physicians can now freely provide their services by the merciful strokes of great men such as Lloyd George," Dr. Crawley said to Mary as they walked towards the gardens. They had left the hospital together and were to be joined soon by Isobel and Matthew for a family picnic.<p>

"I'm afraid I still don't understand the National Insurance Act. I was raised as a Conservative," Mary said evenly. She just couldn't comprehend this social mania that seemed to be everywhere in Manchester, and especially in the hospital. It seemed a very foreign concept to her, and she knew her family had vehemently objected to it.

"You understand it quite well, I'm sure, Mary," Dr. Crawley laughed. "But it's the idea of someone getting something without paying full price for it that gives you consternation."

"That's true," Mary smirked.

"Well, you're not only one to feel that way, and certainly not the only aristocrat to hold that view either," Dr. Crawley said easily.

"Life is filled with messy contradictions," Dr. Crawley continued as he played with his unlit cigar. "Politics most of all. I'm not a Royalist but I was impressed with the tact that King George has for his father's legacy, as King Edward approved of these measures. People should about think of that before they attack Lloyd George. It wasn't a radical idea dreamed up by the liberals."

Mary had never heard this before, but it did make sense. Such a controversial act would need the approval of the King, not just the Chancellor or Prime Minister.

"There is genuine good in helping all people and that is what his measure is trying to ensure," Dr. Crawley said. "It has been a rough start, both for the government and the Act itself, but people need access to medicine and health care. As a doctor, naturally I am of the inclination to support such laws from the government that help confirm what, to me, is a right that all people should have."

"I'm not surprised," Mary smiled. She had been taught that great families like her own were to provide for servants, tenants and labourers; certainly not the government. She was not at all shocked that Dr. Crawley fiercely supported the Act, or the concept of everyone in England having a right to health care.

"I know you want to help everyone," she said kindly.

Dr. Crawley chuckled, "Chalk it up to another of my faults. I have legions of them."

Mary shook her head at this dry humor.

"People are stubborn Mary. They don't like change," he said as they reached the chosen spot for the picnic under the famed ginkgo tree that Matthew had taken her to some months before. Mary was amused that Dr. Crawley had entered the garden through the west gate, therefore avoiding his son's so-called shortcut. Matthew had never taken her through that route since their first date, in fact.

"But in my experience," Dr. Crawley continued, "Nobody has more pride than the poor. I've seen them in my hospital, without a penny to their name and yet they still insist on being billed for their medical treatment. This new Act will allow them dignity from begging and salvation from debt. After all, a Duchess and a dockworker can both get pneumonia can they not?"

Mary felt a shiver at this conclusion. She had never had to think about how medicine and health care was paid for. Whenever they needed him, Dr. Clarkson came to the house to see them, or they went into the Village. The cost of the service was never in her thoughts. Now though, because of her exile, she was forced to confront the issue of where her money came from and how it would be spent. There was no one to rely upon anymore, except herself. The money that her Mama had given her when she was banished from Downton Abbey had lasted for most of her first year in Manchester, and her Granny was providing for her as well. Not having to pay for living with Lady Philomena was helpful, but Mary was still doing things like buying groceries and paying for her lunch in the hospital commissary, basic tasks that she never had to contemplate before. Even her clothing had become more utilitarian and practical, though that was partly due to the lack of high fashion selections in Manchester and Matthew's continued habit of buying her dresses and other gifts.

"Well," Dr. Crawley said as he cut his cigar promptly lit it. "It is a fine day today," he glanced about the gardens with relish at the surroundings. "On the seventh day, God created Manchester," he finished with admiration, "My Heaven on Earth."

Mary could only smile at his warmth for their surroundings. However, before she could speak, she saw Matthew and his mother approaching. He carried a large picnic basket on one arm and a large blanket under the other. Isobel was carrying a basket of her own, and Mary smiled, knowing the exact contents.

"Hello there," Dr. Crawley said warmly as his family gathered around. Mary felt her smile grow as she watched them interact. The three of them looked so right together, the picture of a proper family, a loving one. She blushed when Matthew's gaze turned from his parents and settled upon her.

Dr. Crawley took the basket and blanket from Matthew, despite his son's objections. He then offered his free arm to Isobel and they proceeded to set up for the picnic.

Matthew doffed his hat and greeted Mary with a shy smile.

"Hello," he said casually. "I'm so glad you're here."

"You can thank your parents once again," she said. "Isobel cajoled me into coming for this birthday celebration."

"Well, you do mean a lot to them," Matthew smiled. "They like to think of you as a success story for how much you've learned since you've arrived here." He paused briefly before he spoke again, in a quieter tone. "And you mean a great deal to me, also. A very great deal."

"I should have known that you would have the same birthday as your Father as you two are so very much alike," Mary said slightly changing the subject as she was still uncomfortable accepting so much praise she felt she didn't deserve.

Matthew laughed at this comment. "I believe I'm supposed to offer you such charming flattery, not the other way around."

"Mary, Matthew, come join us, won't you?" Dr. Crawley called, interrupting their banter.

"Matthew, my boy, we've got strawberries!"

Mary laughed as she saw his parents beckon them so eagerly. She took his arm when it was offered and they joined his family on the large blanket to enjoy the beautiful day's merriment. After they had nibbled on the food and all had glasses of lemonade, Isobel made an impromptu toast.

"Although another year has passed, it's safe to say my dearest husband and son; you appear to me no older than the last!"

"Hear, hear," Dr. Crawley said as he affectionately kissed his wife's hand.

"Matthew," he said after a moment, "You should open your presents first."

"No, Papa," he insisted. "You first. You were born before I was."

"Matthew," Dr. Crawley said with mock annoyance. "I insist. Don't argue with your Papa."

"Honestly," Isobel said in playful exasperation. "Mary," she said turning to their guest. "It is so lovely to have you here as they fight about this every year and I am often called to play judge and jury."

The two men chuckled together at this declaration.

"It would seem that Isobel has been given a reprieve this year," Dr. Crawley stated. "So, Mary, please choose which of us is to go first."

"Yes," Matthew said in agreement. "Who will it be?"

Mary didn't hesitate. "Dr. Crawley," she said as she reached over and found her small gift.

"I smell a plot," Dr. Crawley frowned at his son.

"Mary is her own woman, Papa," Matthew said, holding his hands up innocently. "I could no sooner give her orders than I could Mother."

"Thank you, Mary," Dr. Crawley said as he carefully unwrapped the tissue paper around the present. His attention to detail was the same as when he was wrapping a bandage, Mary noticed.

"A new journal…and a fountain pen!" Dr. Crawley laughed as he removed the items. "This is very generous, Mary. It's far more than you should have spent on an old man."

"Nonsense," Mary returned firmly. "It was my pleasure. And it goes along with Matthew's present."

"Does it now?" Dr. Crawley said fondly as he looked at his son. "I knew a scheme was afoot."

"Yes," Matthew said eagerly. He reached for and then offered his gift. It was a simple box with a single bow on top.

Dr. Crawley untied the ribbon and reached inside to find a brand new pair of binoculars.

"Oh, Good Lord!" He exclaimed as he held the new gift with reverence.

"It's for your bird watching," Matthew said proudly.

"Darling, you shouldn't always encourage your father's folly towards his weekend expeditions," Isobel said dryly, although her bright eyes betrayed her pride in such a thoughtful gesture. "Now he'll be boring Mary to tears with chapter and verse on how the Royal Society was formed."

"Too late. I've already educated her," Dr. Crawley smiled. "And for that bit of cheek, my dear wife, you shall accompany me for the next expedition. We will go to Didsbury and trek the banks of the Mersey."

"Didsbury?" Matthew said in mock alarm. "Why, Papa, that's _almost_ outside the city!"

Isobel and Matthew laughed and Mary could not help but join in. She reached for her lemonade to settle herself. It was such a lovely afternoon to spend with Matthew and his family. While there were no footmen or maids attending to them, no silver trays of canapés and champagne flutes being passed around, she was enjoying herself immensely.

After the rest of the presents had all been unwrapped, Isobel and Mary took a stroll along the paths of the garden. Matthew leaned back on his outstretched arms as he watched them walk away, chatting so pleasantly together. Dr. Crawley lit a cigar and noticed his son's gaze.

"Mary appears very happy. A far cry from the young woman I first encountered in the hospital. I trust you have played some role in that?" he asked lightly.

Matthew turned his gaze towards his father. He swallowed awkwardly, feeling uneasy. Discussing his relationship with Mary was a delicate matter. He liked that it was something just between the two of them, only to be shared when they deemed it necessary. On the other hand, he was sometimes lost and aimless when it came to Mary. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and part of her allure was that he knew there was some mystery to her. There was something holding her back, and he knew he must be patient in order to earn her trust enough for her to share whatever it was.

"Papa," Matthew said cautiously, "I don't know how to discuss such subjects with you," he finally said.

"Tell me anything, nothing is forbidden or taboo. Always talk to me Matthew, that is my dearest wish," he said calmly. "I know you have honest intentions towards Mary, and in time I hope they come to fruition."

"Thank you," Matthew said warmly. "When I know more, before I act, I will seek your steady guidance. I can say that…well…I am quite certain I shall be acting with regard to Mary, and very soon I hope."

"My guidance you shall have, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said as he patted his son's shoulder. "I love it here," he said fondly as he puffed on his cigar. "The ginkgo tree leaves remind me of four leaf clovers. I've been so lucky," he said nostalgically. "To have your mother and then you," he paused. "And maybe a daughter someday soon…"

"Papa," Matthew rolled his eyes.

Dr. Crawley chuckled at his son's reaction. He put a hand through his gray hair. "My boy, you know I'm rubbish when it comes to personal matters. I'm a late bloomer in the garden of life and love. If it weren't for your mother, I'd still be simply a phantom slinking through the hospital. A man concerned with helping others and never knowing how to help himself. I'm transparent in that I am incapable of stopping to reflect on myself, I only want to help; your mother calls it my Achilles' heel."

Matthew nodded.

"I'm sorry I have to burden you with this, but as my only child you must carry the full weight of your father's hopes and dreams. It's a harsh thing – wanting the best for your child but not quite knowing how to lead him there. That's why I am so pleased for you and Mary. The two of you…well…the two of you make your mother and I quite happy."

Matthew was silent as he looked at his father. He smiled at him.

"Anyway, there's no need to delve too deeply into memories of the past," Dr. Crawley said as he extinguished his cigar. "Focus on Mary, my boy, and dreams for the future."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, February 1911**_

* * *

><p>Matthew walked down the hall, taking his time and trying to appear as casual as possible. Each time that a nurse came into view, he would look over, then turn his gaze away when he identified who the woman was, or more importantly, who she was not.<p>

He glanced about once more as he came to the familiar office doorway, looking in both directions before finally exhaling and shaking his head ruefully at his behaviour. What was the use? Even if she did appear, what would he say to her?

'_Oh, hello! Imagine seeing you here again…in the place where you work every day…'_

Matthew grumbled under his breath. He could argue with lawyers and judges, question clients and drone on to junior associates for hours without so much as a cue card or scribbled note to guide him. But just the thought of saying hello to a nurse's assistant left him tongue tied.

But she wasn't just a nurse's assistant was she?

"Papa," he called, leaning against the doorway.

Dr. Reginald Crawley was writing away at his desk, a large pile of file folders on one side of him. Even when he was busy, his father always left the door open. As he often told Matthew, he wanted everyone to know he was busy, but never unapproachable.

"Ah! Matthew!" Dr. Crawley smiled, continuing to write his notes and not looking up as he addressed his son. "Come in and have a seat. I'm finishing my notes on this last patient. I'll only be a moment."

"Of course," Matthew nodded but he didn't move to comply with his father's offer. Instead, he stood in the doorway, his hat in his hands. Matthew looked idly down the hall, and then turned his head to look in the opposite direction. His fingers played with the brim of his hat, running around and around it.

When Dr. Crawley did not see his son come into the office and did not hear the familiar creak of the chair moving as he sat down, he looked up from his notes and observed his son standing in the doorway. Smirking to himself, Dr. Crawley went back to writing.

"She should be by in a few minutes," he said, his eyes still focused on writing down the symptoms that Mr. Atwell had presented with moments earlier and the treatment he had prescribed.

"Pardon?" Matthew frowned at this statement, looking back to his father's hunched form.

"Mary Crawley," Dr. Crawley replied, still looking at the page in front of him. "She's attending to a patient and I expect she will be finished shortly and come back here for further instructions."

Matthew cleared his throat. "That's all well and good, Father, but I don't see how that should interest me," Matthew said, feigning a bored tone and failing horribly, producing a rather strange high pitched croak instead.

Dr. Crawley looked up from his notes again and grinned widely at his only child. It was a tiny detail, but he had always observed that Matthew only called him _Father_ when he was annoyed or frazzled; normally he always used the more affectionate term of _Papa_. He shouldn't necessarily indulge Matthew's personal matters – that was a job for his mother to handle. But, Dr. Crawley lived by many creeds and medical oaths, and a significant promise that Isobel had told him shortly after they had first met.

"_Try to be one of the people on whom nothing is lost."_

The Henry James quote spoke volumes to him, as that was his very mission as a doctor, and she had diagnosed him and his ambitions so skilfully. So, now as he observed his son, his attitude was fittingly bemused.

"Perhaps then you'll be content to wait outside the hospital for me, if standing in the hallway and glancing about to see which nurses pass by does not interest you at all?"

Matthew's mouth opened to protest, but he was silent before he shrugged and stared at the ground.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to see Mary again, Matthew. Although you only met her last week, you've been by to visit every day since, hoping to run into her again, and you've been successful every time. It's perfectly understandable," Dr. Crawley said patiently, going back to his notes.

"I haven't come by hoping to see her," Matthew said defensively, "I came here because I have an appointment to have lunch with you and Mother."

"As much as I enjoy a visit, _daily_ appearances here are a rare bird, even for you. Anyway, I'm merely saying that I expect…"

"Matthew!" a cheerful voice called from down the hall.

Matthew's head snapped in her direction and his eyes brightened. He turned and placed his hands behind his back, squeezing the brim of his hat.

"Mary," Matthew nodded and smiled, "Good to see you again."

"And you," Mary smiled back shyly, coming into the doorway.

"Dr. Crawley," she said looking away from Matthew as she stated her business. "Mrs. Bell claims she is ready to be discharged, but I don't think she is," Mary said plainly. "In any event, her son cannot come to collect her until later this afternoon. I told her you would need to see her one last time but you're having lunch with your son, so you'll be by around four."

Dr. Crawley appraised the young woman and smirked.

"You do enjoy making me the villain, don't you?" he asked with a smile.

"You can blame your wife. She's the one who told me to use that strategy," Mary smiled back.

"Except in her case, it isn't just a strategy," Dr. Crawley replied easily.

"Papa!" Matthew frowned.

"I'm only joking," Dr. Crawley smiled good-naturedly, happy to hear the return of this less formal moniker from his son's lips.

"It seems my notes are taking a bit longer than I expected, and Mary, I see you have a break in your schedule. Why don't you join us for lunch?"

Mary's eyes widened and she glanced at Matthew nervously before looking down at Dr. Crawley's office floor.

"Oh, that's quite all right. I was just going to eat in the commissary," she replied.

"Nonsense," Dr. Crawley said, looking back down at his notepad. "We'll be glad to have you. I'll pay. We're going just around the corner and the place has fantastic food. Please go and fetch Isobel and meet us by the front entrance. Matthew and I will be along once I'm finished."

Dr. Crawley returned to his notes.

There was silence between the two young people as Mary cautiously looked at Matthew.

"Better do what he says," Matthew advised politely. "Trust me. When he puts his head back down, it means he doesn't want to talk about it any further."

Mary smiled and nodded. She left and walked quickly down the hall in search of Isobel, biting her bottom lip at the prospect of having lunch with Matthew and his parents.

"You're welcome," Dr. Crawley said, still not looking up at his son. "But, my boy," he said warmly, "Next time I will expect you to show your own initiative and give her a proper invitation, knowing you have my blessing. After all, there is only so much I can do for you, Matthew."

Matthew laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Thank you Papa," he said dutifully. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew stood outside the door to his parents' bedroom, his feet rooted to the floor. He knew this door so well. The brass knob had always looked golden, inviting somehow; even when it creaked slightly because it had been turned too fast. The door was walnut, and heavier than stone when he was a boy and needed comforting from a nightmare; but as light as air when he was an adolescent seeking out his Papa to share his latest grade. Standing before the door now as a grown man, it seemed strange to him – different and foreboding. He did not want to open it. The brass knob was worn out and tarnished, in need of polishing; it had lost its golden gleam, as though the room within no longer held any pleasant memories for him, but just the threat of misery and despair.<p>

Matthew took in a shaky and ragged breath of air. He did not want to step beyond this threshold. Matthew's hands balled into fists, his eyes narrowing.

How dare his father keep this from him! He called upon the fury building in his stomach to push his tears back. How dare he think of him as a child that needed to be coddled and protected from the harsh realities of the world! He was a lawyer for God's sake! He saw the worst of people every day and did not flinch. He could take it. Matthew knew that not all truth was ephemeral and beautiful; he knew it could be ugly and raw. He could handle this. He could have handled it when the first suspicions had formed in his father's mind. He could have been part of the solution, instead of being told later on when there was none to be found.

Matthew exhaled and closed his eyes. The tears washed over his fury and threatened to spill from beneath his eyelids. He swallowed hard and blinked several times. He reached tentatively for the brass doorknob, finding it seemed further away to him than usual, and opened the door.

His parents' bedroom was dark; the lights all out except for a dim lamp next to the bed. Matthew did not need the light. He had come into this room in pitch black darkness hundreds of times. Matthew heard his father's laboured wheezing first, then made out the shape of his thin frame under the blankets. He walked deliberately to the bedside and sat down in the chair placed there. As a child, he had often sat in this chair as his parents lay in bed and his father read the newspaper or a favourite book aloud for both he and his mother to hear. He hated this chair now.

"Son," Dr. Crawley said his voice quiet but the timbre still strong and possessive.

"I'm here," Matthew said quietly.

"I can see that," Dr. Crawley smirked, his eyes bright in the dim light. "I may be dying, but I'm not blind."

"Don't joke!" Matthew snarled. "Don't make it small, not when I'm trying to understand."

"You understand perfectly well," Dr. Crawley replied complacently. "You just don't want to accept it, and I do not blame you for that. I still haven't myself, despite all evidence to the contrary."

"You didn't have to keep it a secret," Matthew said, his expression softening. "Why didn't you let us help you?"

"Sometimes people have to keep secrets," Dr. Crawley said softly, "Besides, you did help me. You helped me by showing me what a wonderful man you have become. By being a good man, a caring man, a doting son to your mother, and a loving partner to Mary. Don't you think seeing that has been the most-soothing balm I could ask for?"

"I would rather have cut you open and remove whatever vile thing lies beneath," Matthew answered grimly.

"There aren't enough scalpels and forceps for that operation, I'm afraid," Dr. Crawley said frankly.

The two men sat in silence for several moments. Dr. Crawley continued to wheeze, a smile never leaving his face while Matthew continued to stare blankly at him. He had heard that wheeze before, though it sounded deafening to his ears now. Every cough, every gasp, every clearing of his father's throat – how had Matthew ignored them all?

"Papa," Matthew finally whispered. "How long?"

"A month? Maybe less? One can never be sure about these things. Someday we may be able to look inside a patient and see their condition and accurately predict how much time he has left. Today, all we can do is guess, and Albert thinks it's three weeks, based on the amount of fluid he thinks has accumulated."

Every few words would cause Dr. Crawley to gasp or catch his breath. Matthew cringed at first, and then forced himself to hold his father's gaze and show no reaction. A Crawley hated to be pitied.

"How do you expect me to endure these next few weeks or months knowing that I'm losing more of you each day?" Matthew said.

"You're never losing me," Dr. Crawley smiled defiantly. "Don't you see? Every lesson that I teach you, every piece of advice, and every moment that we share is me pouring myself into you, my son. And you have handled it all brilliantly, and have taken what you need and left behind what you don't and become a man that I am proud of beyond words. If I don't last the night, I am already blessed for you have turned out better than I ever could have dreamed. So, a few more weeks with you and your Mother is a rare gift."

"Papa," Matthew swallowed. "I had plans. I had moments in my mind that we would be sharing as I got older. I was going to buy you a retirement home, somewhere near the City, but not in the City."

Dr. Crawley laughed, which caused him to cough several times. He nodded to Matthew to continue.

"I was going to get you season tickets to Old Trafford," Matthew said, speaking quickly. "The good ones, near the players' bench."

"How many?" Dr. Crawley asked.

"Four," Matthew smiled weakly. "Mother doesn't like to watch, but Mary would go, at least at first, and we would need an extra seat eventually for…" Matthew grimaced and bit his lip.

"For my grandchild," Dr. Crawley continued.

"You're going to miss all of that. We're going to miss all of that," Matthew groaned.

"It's a lovely plan," Dr. Crawley said. "But like all grand plans, things change, and as the architect of this plan, you must adapt, Matthew. You must keep your vision, and change the pieces to adapt."

"I…I just feel so lost…" Matthew said sadly.

"Lost," Dr. Crawley repeated quietly, "Yes, I sympathize. I remember strolling through the park with you in your pram, your mother by my side; strangers would make assumptions and congratulate me on my grandson. I was mortified. I felt lost," Dr. Crawley said nostalgically. "Not for myself, but for Isobel, this stunning woman saddled with a fussy old coot like me. But, it never bothered her. What was important was the end result – we had you, we had our baby, and the manner in which we got there was ultimately inconsequential."

Matthew nodded his head reluctantly.

"Anyway, there will be time to talk about many things. For right now, before your mother brings Mary in, I want to talk to you about something of paramount importance."

"Which is?" Matthew asked, frowning at the seriousness of his father's tone and the change of subject.

"Downton."

"No, Papa," Matthew shook his head vigorously.

"Matthew, if what Lord Merton and Mr. Murray told us is true, the clock ticks away and the cousins can't be found, this means that you will soon be the last heir to the Earl of Grantham."

"No. No, please," Matthew choked. "I can't listen to another word of this."

"Listen to me!" Dr. Crawley said firmly, and Matthew was once again ten years old, standing rigid as his Father stood tall and imposing before him. His anxiety stopped and he sat still, waiting for instruction.

"If you are the last heir, then the Earl of Grantham will summon you. It may not be this year, it may not be next year, but you will be summoned at some point in the future. They will expect you to go to Yorkshire and take up your position."

"I won't do it, Papa," Matthew said resolutely.

"You will," Dr. Crawley nodded.

"Do not ask this of me," Matthew cried. "Let them have their world, Papa. Let them leave us in peace."

"They will not, if what we have been told is true," Dr. Crawley replied. "And the more that I think about it, the more I believe that we should not let them off."

"Why?" Matthew pleaded.

"You will go to Yorkshire. You will take up the title of heir to the Earl of Grantham, and you will use that position to make things right. You will make things right…for Mary," Dr. Crawley said pointedly.

Matthew's eyes went wide. "She doesn't want me to, Papa. I told her that I would go in your stead if you were ever summoned and she forbade me. Don't you think we're better off here?"

"You would do very well here, Matthew, and you can always return if you wish. This is your home, and always will be. You're a Manc, through and through," Dr. Crawley smiled wistfully.

"But," he continued. "A great deal was taken from Mary before she arrived here, Matthew, as you know. A very great deal. As much as I have tried to ignore it, I do not believe we can any longer. She deserves to have all that was lost restored to her, Matthew. I have always believed this to be true, but never had the means to do anything about it. It was never a question of money. It was the need to first be in their world. You can't change anything with that lot unless you are first part of Society. And now we are. Not just on the periphery or by loose association. You will be the Earl of Grantham one day. So, you must take up this cause. You must do this for her."

"But, Papa, I can provide a life for her here. I don't need her family. I don't need their wealth. I don't need their title. I can give Mary the life she deserves without ever setting foot in Yorkshire," Matthew objected.

"This isn't about you, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said patiently. "This isn't about money. This isn't even about just the Earldom. This is about what is right. And what is right is to not ignore or cast a blind eye to all that was done to Mary in the past. What is right is to give her the choice that she was denied. The choice to choose the life she wishes on her terms, not anyone else's, including yours or mine."

"She will fight me on this," Matthew shook his head. "She doesn't want any part of it. She already endured so much pain to leave that life behind her. She will be very difficult to convince."

"She only did so out of necessity," Dr. Crawley shook his head. "She believed that there was no use fighting. She believed no one would fight for her. She gave up hope because to do otherwise would have torn her apart inside. That's different now. You can be her hope. You can fight for her."

"Against her own family, Papa?" Matthew asked doubtfully. "Against all of London Society? Against their traditions and conventions and beliefs?"

Dr. Crawley narrowed his eyes and looked at his son sternly. Matthew swallowed. Even though he was bedridden, even though his breath was growing harsher with each passing moment, he appeared tall and magnificent, commanding and unavoidable. His voice was strong and firm.

"What did you promise, Matthew? What did you vow?"

Matthew closed his eyes. His promise. The words sang through his mind as though they were uttered mere moments ago, rather than last year. He could never forget them. They were the most beautiful melodies he had ever spoken or heard.

"To love and cherish her," Matthew whispered, opening his eyes and finding his father's softened expression.

"To love and cherish her," Dr. Crawley repeated tenderly, nodding to his son with pride. "And does that include protecting her?"

"Yes."

"Does that include defending her honour?"

"Yes."

"Does that include putting right all libel and slander, attacks, complaints, smears and besmirches to her name and reputation?"

"Yes."

"You will do this, Matthew. You will do your duty to Mary. You will do your duty to your wife," Dr. Crawley nodded.

Matthew exhaled and kept his father's gaze, an entire discourse passing silently between their eyes alone.

"Yes, Papa," Matthew said firmly, his heart swelling.

"Swear it to me, Matthew," Dr. Crawley demanded, and in that moment, Matthew thought he had never heard his father appear so desperate. "Swear to me that you will not allow the world to continue to believe a lie about your wife. Swear to me that you will restore her to where she belongs – that you will give her the chance to be Countess of Grantham."

Matthew reached out and clutched his father's hand. The grip was still firm, the warmth still evident.

The door behind them opened.

"Reginald, Mary is here," Isobel said softly.

"I swear it, Papa," Matthew said quietly, keeping his gaze locked on his father's eyes.

Dr. Crawley seemed to smile in relief, squeezing Matthew's hand in thanks.

"I swear it," Matthew whispered.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Old Nags Head Pub, Manchester, England, October 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Are you sure? There's still time," Matthew said, keeping his voice low even though there was no one else in this part of the pub. "We can just have dinner as planned and not mention anything."<p>

"I'm sure," Mary sighed. "They need to know."

"No, they don't," Matthew shook his head. "They won't care, Mary. You're going to be my wife. It doesn't matter what they think about it, and so it doesn't matter if they even know."

"I don't want any secrets, Matthew," Mary said firmly. "It destroyed my last family. I won't let it harm my new one. We have to hide our marriage from the world, but not the world we care about."

"All right. I understand," Matthew nodded.

They heard a familiar cheerful laugh from outside their private room as the bartender greeted Dr. Crawley and Isobel. Matthew's parents soon appeared at the doorway, laughing and smiling.

"Mary!" Isobel beamed, taking her hands and squeezing them as Mary rose to greet Matthew's mother. "I've heard superb things about your work today."

"I'm sure it has been exaggerated," Mary blushed, sitting back down.

"Certainly not!" Dr. Crawley laughed, holding out his wife's chair, and then taking a seat of his own opposite Matthew. "Matthew, would you believe that your Mary saved a man's life today?"

Matthew grinned at her.

"It was nothing," Mary shook her head, attempting to deflect the praise. "I merely noticed that we were missing a sponge."

"Merely noticed!" Isobel laughed. "A sponge that was left inside the patient!" she said pointedly. "Why, Christopher was about to sew him back up, and Lord knows what would have happened then!"

"At best the patient would have had to have been operated on again, at great cost. At worst, the sponge could fester and damage his internal organs. The reputation of the hospital would have been in jeopardy in any event," Dr. Crawley shook his head.

"Very well done, darling," Matthew smiled, kissing her hand.

Mary smiled politely. Her stomach fluttered, and it was not out of nervousness this time.

"Champagne is in order!" Dr. Crawley declared. "A congratulatory drink for such a wonderful achievement!"

"Papa, wait," Matthew grew serious, looking at Mary in reassurance. "Before we order, there's two things that we need to tell both of you."

"Nothing bad, I hope?" Isobel frowned.

"No, certainly not," Mary shook her head. "Although it may…change things."

Dr. Crawley and Isobel cast a concerned look at each other.

"Well, by all means, Matthew, please, tell us," Dr. Crawley said.

Matthew opened his mouth to speak and Mary touched his arm.

"Matthew is just being gallant, as always," she said. "It's actually my story to tell."

All of them turned towards her and Mary clasped her hands together, trying to calm herself.

"There was a reason that I came to Manchester back in February, a reason I have not told anyone except Matthew," she began.

"You don't need to share any secrets with us, Mary," Isobel interrupted. "We are very fond of you, you must know that, but we don't mean to be nosey."

"No, you need to know," Mary nodded. "You see, I came to Manchester quite unexpectedly. It was essentially the last place I could go…because of my reputation. I chose Manchester because very few people knew me here, and I could start over."

Dr. Crawley frowned.

"Before I came here, I lived in Yorkshire, at Downton Abbey, to be exact. My father is Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham."

"Oh my Lord," Isobel gasped, her eyes wide. "No one ever mentioned her name when…"

"You're the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter?" Dr. Crawley asked. "The one who…"

"She's Mary Crawley," Matthew said firmly, staring directly at his parents. "The woman I love."

Dr. Crawley and Isobel looked at each other, and then back at Mary and Matthew.

"Mary," Isobel said quietly. "I am so sorry. I cannot imagine what you have been through."

Mary's eyes widened as Isobel reached out and touched her hand kindly. She looked at Dr. Crawley and instead of finding scorn, saw only sympathy.

"You aren't shocked?" Mary asked. "Disappointed? Angry? Disgusted with me?"

"Why would we be any of those things?" Dr. Crawley frowned in confusion. "This doesn't change what we think of you, Mary. It only lets us know what a horrible past you have had."

"But aren't you concerned? Aren't you afraid that I may ruin Matthew?" Mary asked, ironically beginning to think of all the reasons that Matthew's parents should be angry with her.

"Ruin Matthew?" Dr. Crawley repeated incredulously. "But how could you possibly…"

"What does what you've done before have anything to do with Matthew?" Isobel asked. "That was your past life, and it shouldn't stop the two of you from getting along."

"It isn't important," Dr. Crawley agreed.

"Wait," Isobel interjected, her eyes widening. "You mentioned that you had _two _things to tell us."

Matthew grinned at his parents.

"God in Heaven!" Isobel gasped. "Are you telling us…"

"Yes, I've asked Mary to be my wife, and she has very kindly accepted my proposal," Matthew beamed.

Isobel and Dr. Crawley looked at each other, and then burst into wide grins, getting up from their chairs and embracing Matthew and a completely stunned Mary.

"My daughter!" Isobel laughed, squeezing Mary quite thoroughly. "Oh, I am so very pleased!"

Mary stared at Matthew in shock. He winked at her, accepting his father's handshake and his mother's embrace. Once they composed themselves and sat back down, Dr. Crawley called for champagne with strawberries and Isobel looked over the menu.

"If I realized this would be such a celebration, I would have chosen a different restaurant rather than your father's old smoking haunt," Isobel frowned, turning the menu over to examine the back page. "I do hope they have a proper cake of some sort."

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand," Mary shook her head. "You both have heard what all of London Society thinks about me, and yet you seem strangely happy that I am marrying your son?"

"Happy doesn't begin to describe it," Isobel smiled at Matthew.

"Over the moon wouldn't begin to describe it," Dr. Crawley chuckled, "Finally," he said with relief.

"You're that desperate to see Matthew settled that you would be content for him to marry a…a…" Mary stammered.

"Oh, Mary, no!" Isobel exclaimed.

"What my parents are so eloquently trying to tell you, darling," Matthew smiled, holding her hand. "Is that we have far more faith in what we know from our own experience with you than what anyone else would tell us about you. So, as you will recall I previously said, my parents don't care about your past, and neither do I."

"And what we know about you is that you are a very fine young lady, Mary," Isobel smiled. "And we are so happy that you want to spend your life with Matthew."

"How could we possibly care about your past when the future is so very bright for the both of you!" Dr. Crawley smiled.

Mary could only smile back in astonishment.

"I may not be as worthy of your son as you think I am," Mary said quietly.

"You underestimate yourself, Mary," Dr. Crawley laughed. "Or you are overestimating Matthew."

"We may also not have the type of wedding that you envisioned for him," she added carefully.

"Do you think we are all about the pomp of the ceremony, my dear?" Isobel laughed.

"So long as the two of you are husband and wife, have whatever wedding you choose," Dr. Crawley smiled. "Matthew could use someone to shake him up a bit, and you are just the woman he needs."

"Champagne, Dr. Crawley," the waitress smiled as she brought the bottle to the table.

"We'll all take a flute, please! We're toasting a very special occasion."

"Congratulations," the waitress nodded simply, pouring the champagne for them.

"Thank you," Mary smiled, still in shock as Matthew and his parents took brought their glasses forward and clinked them against her own.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary sat down in the chair that Matthew had just vacated. The door closed softly behind her and she blinked several times. She felt small and lonely in this bedroom, despite Dr. Crawley sitting up and leaning back against the pillows before her. Only very rarely had she ever been in her own parents' bedroom, so it felt strange to be in this bedroom now for the first time, especially given the circumstances.<p>

"I'm sorry that it's so dark in here," Dr. Crawley smiled. "Isobel wants me to rest, and she knows if she keeps the lights on, I'll get up to something."

Mary nodded slowly. After her incident, she used to keep the lights off in her own bedroom at Downton Abbey as well. The only light would be the ray entering from the door when Anna brought her tray, or Sybil snuck in to soothe her tears. She felt banished even then, forced to stay in her room by Cousin James, her every movement watched. To turn on the lights would have reminded her of all the happy memories from her home, and she didn't want to remember them, didn't want to keep them with her when her world was slipping from her grasp. That distant room and distant time seemed like going to the County Fair compared to what Mary was feeling now.

"I suppose you're angry with me," Dr. Crawley said softly.

"No," Mary shook her head sadly. "For once you're wrong. There are many things in life that I am angry about, but nothing concerning you."

"That's very kind, Mary," Dr. Crawley smiled.

"I'm just so very sorry," Mary said, keeping his gaze with determination. She sat on the edge of her seat, leaning forward. "You've given me so much, and I was looking forward to the day that I could repay the favour. I've never told Matthew this, but it was my private wish to someday put your grandson in your arms, to maybe even name him Reginald."

"Oh no," Dr. Crawley laughed with difficulty. "Please don't do that to a charming little chap. He'd be such a poor fellow saddled with such a name!"

Mary laughed with him briefly; she took his macabre better than his own son.

"You and Matthew are so very similar in some things. Both of you think that only in my retirement, only in the future would you make me happy," Dr. Crawley said kindly.

Mary smiled as she stared at her father-in-law. It had always been easy to smile in his company, but now she found she was doing it more out of sadness and sympathy, and this made her feel even more sad.

"I am thankful every day for you, Mary," he continued. "The best things always happened to me in the halls of the hospital, meeting my darling Isobel of course, but also seeing you."

Mary's clasped hands tightened together as though a vice was squeezing her. She braced herself against his kind words, willing herself to remain coherent and not break down; to continue smiling while her heart broke into pieces.

"Do you know," Dr. Crawley said after clearing his throat emotionally, "We tried for so long to have a baby. Isobel wanted a girl. I wanted a boy. We used to laugh about that a lot as we couldn't seem to agree on _anything_. Eventually, we thought it would get sorted out the natural way as we expected to have a large family. But, then things didn't work out as we planned and just when we thought we would end up childless, along came Matthew."

"_Gift from God_," Mary whispered.

"Exactly," Dr. Crawley smiled. "Our saving grace in so many ways," he said contemplatively. "Well, as much as I love my son, I'm greedy and I always wished we could have another child too, a daughter, as much for my sake as for Isobel's. There's something about girls, you know."

"I do," Mary nodded. "I have two younger sisters."

"I always knew Matthew would settle down one day, with a nice girl, a sweet girl. And so I looked forward to it, knowing that one day, we would have our daughter," Dr. Crawley smiled in nostalgia.

Mary blinked back her tears. She didn't fit that description, 'nice' and 'sweet' were not words that could be used about her.

"What I could never imagine, Mary," Dr. Crawley said with a hint of cheer. "Is that my daughter would be a woman like you, a strong woman, who is brave and compassionate. I could not have asked for anyone better to share Matthew's life. I could not have dreamed of anyone better suited for him than you. And so I am thankful. I am thankful that I lived to see the two of you married and revel in your first year of marriage. That is the best gift of all."

"You give me far too much credit," Mary shook her head. "You always have."

"You're wrong," Dr. Crawley said firmly. "I thought I was doing you a favour by rescuing you from Cassandra that fateful day. Little did I realize that my family would receive a gift in return far more valuable than the small task that I accomplished that day."

Mary cried, the tears falling from her cheeks unabated. It was unfair. It was wrong. It was a reminder of just how much joy had been taken from her life. Dr. Crawley took her hand gently.

"He'll need you, Mary," Dr. Crawley said softly. "Isobel too, but she'll make do. She will go on. Matthew though, he will need you very much. I'm afraid he's a lot like me, stubborn to a fault, and always prefers to keep his pain inside, so as not to burden his loved ones."

Mary nodded, swallowing in a deep breath and trying to calm herself.

"Now, I think I'll get some sleep. Don't worry, my dear Mary. I'll be here tomorrow morning. I can promise you that much."

Dr. Crawley squeezed her hand and Mary returned the gesture. Her father-in-law closed his eyes, his breathing jagged and uneven. She rose swiftly from her chair and walked briskly out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. When she looked down the corridor, she saw that Matthew was standing against the wall, his face downcast.

Of course he would wait for her, Mary thought. He would assume she needed his comfort, rather than look to his own grief first. And she did need him. It was as though the shocking loss of Dr. Crawley was akin to tearing a way a part of the life she had built for herself in Manchester, and she needed to cling to the biggest part left – to her husband.

"Matthew," Mary said, coming into his embrace and holding him tight. His hands clutched at her back, then he moved his fingers up to her hair and held her against him. He kissed her cheek, no words seemed necessary or appropriate in this moment. Neither of them knew where to begin.

Mary closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, kissing his neck lightly. His body was rigid, and he was eerily silent. She imagined that he was gritting his teeth and pursing his lips, hanging on to his composure out of respect for her, when an hour ago he was sobbing against her downstairs.

Mary squeezed her eyes further shut. The tears that had stopped momentarily when she left the bedroom returned, and she rubbed her husband's back in gentle circles.

Matthew gasped, letting out a long breath and sagging against the wall, pulling his wife tighter to him. He had walked down this hall to his father's bedroom full of anger and fury and frustration, mad at his parents for not telling him what was going on, mad at the disease that was defeating the strongest man he knew, mad at fate for showing him a beautiful life for him and Mary and their family and destroying that image in one fell swoop.

When he left his parents' bedroom and waited for Mary to have her conversation with his father, the anger was gone, the grief and despair filling him so profoundly that he could not be bothered to save any room to be mad anymore. His father was dying. How soon after would Mother follow? Wasn't that what people said about couples who had been together for so long? When one passed on, the other didn't remain for much longer. Matthew's world was falling apart, the ones he loved fading away from him. He would be alone. Someday soon, he would be alone, the family he grew up in this house with would be gone. It would just be him. Him and…

When Mary came out of the bedroom and he saw the tracks of her tears on her pale face, his heart skipped a beat and his resolve seemed to flare fiercely. His Mary. His wife. He would make things right for her, just as his father ordered him to. That would be his tribute. That would be his mission. He could not save Dr. Reginald Crawley. But he could try to make things right for Mary, and if he somehow succeeded, he knew that his father would be proud.

Matthew tried to be stoic, and brave, and unmoving. As he took Mary into his arms, he tried to be a pillar of strength for her, to calm the sorrow that he knew she must be feeling. His parents loved Mary, and she loved them, and losing his father would hurt her deeply.

"Don't keep it in, Matthew, please," she whispered. "I don't need to be protected. I need you."

Matthew shut his eyes and buried his face in her shoulder, a wrenched cry flying from his chest as hot tears flowed.

Their combined sobs echoed quietly down the dark hallway.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, August 1912**_

* * *

><p>Matthew sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea that had grown cold. He continued to drink the now chilled chamomile, hoping it might calm him enough to sleep. Though it was understandable that he was perpetually unnerved these days, given recent events, that did not make his inability to shut his mind down any less tolerable. He idly played with the end of his loose tie, flicking the silk between his fingers again and again. His eyes were clouded and stared blankly at the table, his free hand lifting the cold tea to his lips once more.<p>

The last two weeks sometimes felt as if they had passed in minutes. Matthew was so determined to remember every moment spent with his father that they were beginning to bleed together into one long conversation. Dr. Crawley had gamely tried to join them for dinner as usual, even inquiring as to the goings on at the hospital and other ridiculously irrelevant topics. They had maintained the ruse for a week after Isobel had revealed his condition, but then the wheezing had worsened and Dr. Boyd ordered him to stay home and after several long arguments with Isobel and Matthew, he had relented. He had left instructions at the hospital for certain patients, scheduling follow up appointments for two weeks ahead. It was not lost upon any of Isobel, Matthew or Mary why Dr. Crawley had chosen a two-week leave of absence.

This evening, after another dinner that was full of effort and enthusiasm but short on optimism, Matthew had the annoying task of walking Mary back to Lady Philomena's house. The old battle axe had returned from London with her household and any hope Matthew had of Mary spending the night had evaporated. For once his wish to keep her in his bed was entirely innocent. He needed to feel her with him, her presence alone surely the best sleeping tonic he could hope for. Sadly, though Mary's whereabouts were often ignored, the servants were sure to notice when she wasn't in her bedroom in the morning. Though Lady Philomena already thought the worst of Mary as it was, the woman still had no reason to withhold any details from Lord Merton, and if it was discovered that Mary had slept elsewhere, it would raise an alarm. So he escorted her home reluctantly, seeing her off a block away from her home, and watching from the distance until she was safely inside.

Matthew often imagined confronting Lord Merton, declaring that Mary was his wife and spiriting her away as though they were living some dream or sappy romantic play. She would have none of it though. He had promised her not to fight her on this, and though he did raise it from time to time, he always relented. Having Mary as his wife on any terms was better than not having her at all.

But it was at times like these, on nights like these, that he missed her terribly. His mother attended to his father, spending long hours with him talking in private, being the support that he needed. Matthew felt as though it wasn't his place to intrude on them, and so he would retreat into a corner and deal with his own grief as best he could. During the day, when he could distract himself at the office, engage his parents in a pleasant conversation or spend time with Mary, he kept himself sufficiently busy to avoid dwelling on the harsh truth facing him. But at night, with Mary gone and his parents upstairs, Matthew sat alone, unable to sleep, accompanied only by a cold cup of tea and the spectre of his father's looming death.

It was therefore with surprise and shock that Matthew flinched as the kitchen door opened slowly. He thought he may have woken Mrs. Bird by accident, but instead, another woman stepped into the room.

"Oh, hello dear," Isobel said quietly. She appeared as shocked as he was at finding another person awake at this strange lonesome hour of the night. She turned on another light reluctantly, then quickly went to the counter and busied herself with reheating the kettle for tea.

"Mother," Matthew replied, his voice a mix of sad resignation and bitter irritation.

How many times had his mother come down to the kitchen in the dark of the night, seeking some respite from his father's condition, or perhaps something to soothe his symptoms and allow him to sleep? What if Matthew had just been awake for even one of these forays? What if he had seen her earlier, discovered what his parents were hiding from him and Mary? What if he could have done something?

What if he had at least _tried_ to do something?

"Is that for Papa?" he asked shakily, gesturing to the tea cup as Isobel waited for the water to boil.

"No," Isobel said as she brushed imaginary crumbs off the counter. Mrs. Bird would have been very offended by the gesture made in her kitchen.

"It's for me," she continued quietly, her voice almost breaking. Isobel's shoulders slumped as she turned her back to him, fiddling with the pantry counter. He saw her start to shake and he moved quickly from his seat. Matthew put a tentative arm on her shoulder and she turned towards him stoically.

"Mother," he said, his eyes kind and his smile showing her an understanding that neither of them wanted to voice. They embraced each other tenderly, and Matthew felt for the first time in his life that his mother was fragile, frail even. He thought he could feel the bones of her back, and along her arms as she pulled away from him. Her eyes were tired, her face drawn, and Matthew realized sadly that neither was due entirely to lack of sleep.

The tea kettle whistled, and he stepped back.

There was silence between them that Matthew did not know how to fill. She poured the boiling water and brought her cup and a tin of shortbread to the kitchen table and sat down. Matthew followed, sitting down next to her and cradling his cold and empty cup.

"Did you know," Isobel said as she cleared her throat. "That at the same time that I truly got to know your father, your grandfather pushed me towards another doctor, a man closer to my own age. He wanted to see me settled. He was probably afraid that I was getting to be too much of a handful and would soon scare off every eligible bachelor in the city. Well, finally, with great hesitation, I accepted this determined man's third proposal. I can barely remember the man's name now, let alone his face."

"What?" Matthew snapped rather loudly, a frown immediately dominating his face. "Mother, of all the things to say!"

Isobel nervously chuckled a little at his harsh reaction.

"I'm sorry, Matthew," she said cautiously. "Perhaps I'm not being very clear about what I mean to explain to you." Her hands trembled as she held her tea mug.

"This lesson must be one of the unspoken Commandments then," Matthew grumbled. "As it would need to be that serious to discuss your…former suitor…with all that is going on at the moment. I always just assumed that Papa was your first offer. I never imagined…"

"Just because you can't imagine something, doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Isobel said quietly.

"Anyway, I was quite besotted with your father, practically from the beginning. I felt I needed to do my duty and accept a man who, on the outside, seemed better suited for me. But I knew almost immediately it was a mistake. And so, a mere nine days after accepting his proposal, I threw him over."

Matthew creased his brow in astonishment.

Isobel sipped her tea and took one of the shortbread cookies, although she didn't eat it.

"My parents and my elder brother were angry with me, they called me the nine day queen like Lady Jane Grey," Isobel said with bittersweet emotion. "But, I did not give in. I was determined to remove the obstacles that kept me apart from the only man I did love. I would not settle for second best, I've always preferred to fight," she said bravely as she looked at her son.

Matthew could only nod at this statement, but it encouraged his mother enough to continue.

"Besides the fact he was older than me," Isobel continued, "Your father was also oblivious to my feelings for him so I had my work cut out for me. As you know he can be rather narrow-minded," Isobel said affectionately.

She offered him the shortbread cookie and Matthew took it automatically, eating it without any hesitation.

"I know you are grappling with how we could conceal your father's condition from you," Isobel continued. "And, well, it wasn't easy. We've fought about it regularly in the last few months. However, your father asked me to do this, and he has never asked for anything of me, nothing quite so important anyway. All he has ever wanted to do was give," Isobel wiped at her moist eyes with her free hand.

"And so I complied," she said softly. "For my love for him is as steady and true as the day I met him, as it is right now. Even though he was making me choose between my husband and my own son, I had no choice, truly, you see."

Matthew took a deep breath, looking away quickly before finding her eyes again.

"I know that you had your reasons, both of you," he said slowly.

"Still I am sorry for it," Isobel nodded. "I would do it again, but that does not mean I do not regret the pain we've caused you."

"I'm glad that you fought for Papa," Matthew said quickly, begging her with eyes to stop. He did not need apologies now. "And I'm glad that you're still fighting for him. I'm just shocked. I…" he faltered but tried again. "I don't want to imagine life without Papa. I can't."

"Well," Isobel said staunchly, "You're going to have to. We both are."

"I'd rather not think of it as death," Matthew said grudgingly, going over the explanation he had crafted in his mind over and over the past few weeks. "But, rather as though he is Odysseus, off on a noble quest into the unknown. He is still out there somewhere. I may not be able to see him, but I won't lose his presence."

Isobel smiled, her eyes moistening. "You do realize the peril of imagining your father going off on a trip as oppose to the reality," she said kindly.

"I know," Matthew nodded. "But, sometimes the fantasy is necessary."

Isobel nodded patiently. "Very well. He would be well cast in that role. And that would make me Penelope, his faithful wife waiting patiently until we can be reunited."

Matthew sighed, looking down at his tea cup, going over the thoughts in this mind before lifting his eyes once again.

"Did Papa mention anything about going to Downton to you?" Matthew asked.

"No," Isobel said, her eyebrows rising at the mention of that place. "He only used gallows humour to allude to the fact that he is now free of that obligation. I had to scold him when he used the term – over my dead body."

Matthew huffed at his father's macabre and Isobel nodded in agreement.

"He could never leave Manchester," Isobel said fondly. "He is far too stubborn, and I'm afraid I share that similar vice."

"Well," Matthew smirked. "You're going to have to. We both are."

Isobel frowned. "How so?"

"I've had to promise Papa," Matthew said hesitantly. "To go and take up my position as heir. Not with some plan to become Earl someday, but rather as a first step towards a greater goal – to restore Mary to her former place and fix all that was done to her."

Isobel's eyes widened. "A noble goal, exactly the type of mission your father would entrust to you," she nodded in understanding. "But, forgive me, Matthew, even if you were to somehow disprove the lie that was spread about your wife, the truth of what actually happened to her is equally troublesome."

"I'm working on that," Matthew said, pursing his lips. "The first step is to get to Downton Abbey, which will already be a daunting challenge. I've raised the idea with Mary before and she vehemently forbid it. Papa is right. I have to do this. But I have no idea how I will convince Mary to come with me."

"So you're trying to convince me, first," Isobel said with a small smile. "This is turning into a vicious cycle."

"Will you promise to go once I am summoned?" Matthew asked nervously.

"Not yet," Isobel said sadly. "My mind is here, with my husband for now. I have no time or energy to think beyond tomorrow. I will keep it in mind, however, when the time comes. Now, what of Mary? How is she handling all of this?"

"She has done a remarkable job of distracting me from her own pain. Her only concern is how I'm handling it. I know she must be shattered inside. She and Papa are very close. I'm hoping that I'm helping her somehow, but I doubt it's as much as she's helping me," Matthew shook his head.

"Sometimes, it's best to keep busy during these moments," Isobel said, her voice tinged with fondness. "Mary has come a long way. I remember when it seemed as though she wasn't entirely committed to you."

"It wasn't like that," Matthew said defensively. "She was trying to be selfless. She thought it better to let me go, rather than disappoint me later."

"I'm surprised that you didn't give up," Isobel said gently. "She certainly gave you reason to."

"She was too late," Matthew smirked, looking down at the table as memories flooded his mind. "I already decided that I loved her enough to spend the rest of my life with her. Much to her surprise, there was nothing she could do to ruin everything."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Alexandra Park, Manchester, England, August 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You brought strawberries," Matthew laughed, reaching into the bag and plucking a rather ripe fruit.<p>

Mary smiled. "Well, I know how much you love them."

"Perhaps I should not indulge in them so often in your presence," he smiled. "You'll think that I have a fetish of some kind."

"Don't assume I would think less of you even if you did," she replied, raising her eyebrow to him. She smirked as his eyes widened. Her stomach rolled slightly, her resolve teetering on edge. It was so easy to talk to Matthew. It had been easy from the beginning. She could laugh with him, flirt with him, forget herself with him. Was she mad to put so much faith in him? Had their time together over the past months been so enthralling that she was now on the verge of making a monumental mistake?

Matthew brought the strawberry to her mouth and she took a bite, looking away from him as she wiped some of the juice from her lips.

"I can get that for you, you know," Matthew teased.

"Matthew!" Mary scolded him. "We're in a public park!"

"Exactly, darling," Matthew smiled. "No one who knows you would ever come here. It's for the common man after all. Your Godfather and his family or associates would never venture within five kilometres of this place."

"Well, in that case," Mary smiled, feeling dangerously bold and brave. "You can kiss me."

She laughed at his bewitched expression, before her pulse jumped as he gave her a smouldering look and leaned towards her.

"Would you think less of me if I told you that I love kissing you more than I love strawberries?" he whispered before caressing her mouth tenderly with his, drawing back before either of them made the kiss more heated.

"You speak rather often of love, Matthew," Mary said playfully. "Do you truly feel it so profoundly or is this merely a well practiced routine of yours? Am I as special as you pretend, or am I merely one of many women that you have ensnared in your clutches?"

"If there were any others, Mary, which there are not," Matthew said smoothly. "I would challenge you to tell me where I would find the time to see them. Since your arrival I have spent practically every free moment with you."

Mary blushed and looked away, trying with only partial success to stop a pleased smile from crossing her lips.

"Perhaps I'm just keeping your interest for now?" she ventured, resuming her calm exterior. "You're only biding your time with me until the next new nurse's assistant is hired?"

"You forget that Cassandra did hire a new assistant recently," Matthew answered. "And contrary to what you may believe, I'm afraid that Daniel is not attractive enough to displace you."

Mary laughed freely.

Matthew smiled at her. "Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead."

"Oscar Wilde," Mary smirked. She thought for a moment, and then looked at him mischievously.

"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet."

"Plato," Matthew smiled. "Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service."

"Now you're being silly," Mary said. "Shakespeare."

"I love you more than words can wield the matter. A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable. Beyond all manner of so much, I love you." His eyes seemed to cloud as he spoke, his face losing its jovial expression.

"Matthew," Mary said nervously.

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest," he said, moving closer to her.

"Stop it, please," Mary whispered, her eyes widening in panic.

"One-half of me is yours, the other half yours, mine own, I would say, but if mine, then yours, and so all yours," Matthew said softly, caressing her cheek.

A tear ran down Mary's cheek. "You don't know what you're saying, Matthew," she cried.

"I know what I feel," Matthew answered, holding her wide eyes firmly in his gaze. "And I know with certainty that I shall love you for the rest of my life. This declaration may be foolish, and brazen, and completely the opposite of everything I would normally do, but I love you, Mary. Ignore it if you wish, deny it if you must, but it shall not change or waver. I love you, Mary Crawley."

"You don't know me, Matthew. You don't know…you don't know what loving me means," Mary said quietly.

Matthew looked at her for a long moment.

"Try me," he smirked. "Unleash your most horrid, most terrible, most shameful reason for why I should not love you. If you are right, then my love for you was not love at all. However, Mary, if you are wrong, then I shall love you all the more, and perhaps you will be swayed that this is far from a passing fancy."

Mary watched him silently. Her heart beat madly in her chest, filling her with sensations that she had tried to bury when Cousin James had sent her to her room all those months ago. Her mind shouted at her to run away from this man. He would hurt her. Or, worse, she would surely hurt him.

Her eyes narrowed and she breathing slowed to normal. Fine. She had put her faith in him for months and he had done nothing to disappoint her. He had accepted all of her veiled answers and half-truths and not pried for more. Yes, Lady Philomena was a family friend. Yes, Lord Merton had generously arranged for her to work at the hospital. Yes, it was thanks to her family that she was in Manchester, broadening her horizons and learning a proper vocation. She owed him this. She owed him the truth, so he could save himself, escape before he said anything more that he would end up regretting.

But what if he was right? What if he did love her? What if he could love _her_?

"Very well, Matthew," Mary said quietly. "But you must listen to my entire story without interruption and you must swear that you shall never repeat any of what I am about to tell you, regardless of which one of us is ultimately proven right."

Matthew raised his hand immediately and looked at her with a confident stare.

"I swear it, Mary. It will be our secret, although you must swear that if I am right, I shall be permitted to tease you mercilessly about my triumph for as long as I wish," Matthew smiled.

Mary took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She wanted to remember that image. His smiling face. His confident, almost lustful stare that she surprisingly welcomed without fear. She needed to memorize this Matthew, the one who trusted her, believed in her, loved her despite not knowing what he was getting himself into.

She opened her eyes finally and took his hand in hers.

"It all began years ago when my Father and his cousin James decided they knew what was best for me…"

She looked from his eyes to their joined hands as she told her story, waiting for the moment when he would recoil and remove his hand, waiting for the time that he would finally break and stand up, backing away from her in horror, waiting for which sordid detail would ultimately destroy the image he had of her.

Matthew listened intently, his face betraying his emotions as he absorbed her tale. He could not stop his eyes from widening, his mouth from gaping, or his brow creasing. He kept his hand tight to hers the entire time.

As Mary finished her harrowing story, she tried to hold her head up high and face his verdict. In many ways, this was almost worse than the actual day in February that her world changed forever. Back then, she was shocked by what had befallen her, but not truly surprised by the reactions of her family. To them, she was a disappointment before Cousin James and Patrick had executed their scheme. This time, she was willingly bringing her shame upon herself, and letting down the one man who believed in her more than anyone else ever had.

"Mary," Matthew said quietly, staring down at their hands. He raised his head slowly and met her gaze.

Mary swallowed.

"I have a confession to make," Matthew said unblinkingly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Law Office of Jennings and Norman, Manchester, England, August 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Matthew, I'm sending one of the girls out for sandwiches. What do you fancy?"<p>

Matthew did not look up from his papers, trying to keep his train of thought as he wrote out his notes.

"Pastrami on rye would be perfect," Matthew replied.

"Got it."

Moments later, Matthew was forced to look up as his colleague sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk, smirking at him expectantly.

"All right, then," Matthew rolled his eyes, laying down his pen. "Go on."

"I don't know what you mean," came the smiling reply.

"Yes you do," Matthew laughed. "You've just come back from London and you want to spill all the horrible gossip that you gathered during the Season."

"What if I want to regale you with tales of my own exploits during the Season, eh?"

"That would be a rather brief conversation," Matthew teased back.

A deep laugh filled the room. "All right, Crawley. I may have heard about a right scandal while I was at Wimbledon watching Tony Wilding put the boots to Barrett."

Matthew was about to say he wasn't interested but it was too late.

"The talk was about this girl or that and who would be the belle of the ball. You know, the usual talk. But there was this one story about a lass who had her debut last year. Seems that she was juggling a few different blokes for months, not actually committing to any of them, playing them for fools."

"So she was evaluating her options then?" Matthew asked.

"Sounds like she was, yeah."

"So doing nothing different than all the men who swoop in looking to claim a prize?" Matthew smirked.

"Here we go! Matthew Crawley, champion of the downtrodden has arrived! All quiet now!" came the reply, accompanied by a rap of knuckles on the table.

"From what I heard, she was evaluating a fair number of options, actually."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, rumour was that she wasn't content with a few toffs and noblemen. She tried out a foreigner too, but not for his prospects as a husband."

Matthew frowned. He expected a crass tale, but that did not make the suggestion any more palatable.

"This lady had the nerve to invite a Turk, or all men, to her bed, right under her father's roof, and put him through his paces."

"What is a Turk doing in London?" Matthew asked.

"He was some diplomat, visiting for some secret government business. It didn't happen in London. Was on one of those fancy country estates. You know, plenty of secret corridors and hidden rooms to make it easy to facilitate a late night romp."

"I hardly think that a debutante would risk her reputation for a brief moment of pleasure," Matthew retorted, blushing slightly. "And I do truly hope that I do not need to explain to you how easily she would be found out by her eventual husband."

"Matthew, Matthew, how can you be so naïve? A little blood and some theatrics and the poor soul would be none the wiser. Anyway, she got caught, practically in the throes from what I hear. And that was the end of her. Family kicked her out, shipped her off to America, never to be seen again."

"That sounds rather harsh," Matthew said. "Of course her prospects would essentially be ruined among that group of people, but to banish her entirely? Surely she's worth more than just her virtue?"

"Maybe to someone with no scruples," he huffed. "But come on, Matthew. That type of reputation doesn't just disappear. They called her the Yorkshire Slut for Christ's sake! How could any man ever trust someone who would do something like that? Or, how could anyone show their face in public with her? Be seen with her? May as well marry a prostitute!"

"This isn't the Middle Ages," Matthew rolled his eyes. "I agree that it would be very difficult to look past such an incident, but I would hope that any person is more than just the measure of one mistake."

"You show me the man who could take jokes about his wife spreading her legs for some Turk and I'll show you a right bloody fool."

"In the end it's just gossip, you know. It's just what someone heard about her from someone else. We lawyers call that hearsay, and it's entirely inadmissible," Matthew smiled.

"Inadmissible in a court of law. In the court of those stuck up toffs, she's already been declared guilty and sentenced."

"Well that's rather convenient for them. Let me guess, you never even learned her name, did you?" Matthew asked.

"No. I think it's known but the rumour's been passed around so many times that all I ever heard was that she was the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Alexandra Park, Manchester, England, August 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Perfect," Mary laughed bitterly. "Even the lawyers know now."<p>

"Well, we can't resist gossip. Some of us make our living off of it," Matthew said wryly.

"How disappointed you must be," Mary said as she removed her hand from his grasp. "Well, you've met the Yorkshire Slut for yourself now. I won't hold you to your foolish declarations of love, Matthew. I do not doubt the honesty of your words, but surely you see now that it was all based on a lie. And so, I release you of your obligation and I shall no longer be a burden to you. I do ask that you keep your promise though, so that I can try my best to build a semblance of a life here. If you wish that I stay away from your parents, I'm sure that can be arranged."

"I will honour my promise to you, Mary," Matthew nodded.

She looked away from him, the tears threatening to spill. She hated being proven right. She could never blame Matthew for his rebuke. Even losing him now, though heartbreaking, was still softened somewhat by the blissful months they'd spent together. She didn't deserve even that much happiness, and so she should feel lucky that she at least stole those moments from him.

She gasped as she felt his hand on hers, warm and soothing, his thumb rubbing over knuckles.

"Matthew?" she breathed, staring wide eyed at his face.

He smiled.

"I believe that I've won our bet, my Lady," Matthew grinned. "And as your punishment, you shall not be rid of me so easily."

"What? But…" Mary blurted out.

"I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the heart's affections and the truth of imagination. What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth – whether it existed or not – for I have the same idea of all our passions as of love: they are all, in their sublime, creative of essential beauty," he said softly.

"Keats," Mary whispered.

"Who did I flirt with at the hospital, Mary? Who did I spontaneously join for tea? Who did I lead into the creek? Who did I cause an unfortunate rash to? Who did I take to the theatre? Who did I shop for? Who has dined with my parents? Who have I kissed again and again, and who do I dream about, long after we have parted?" Matthew smiled.

Mary's mouth fell open and she closed it quickly, her free hand moving to cover her impropriety.

"Tell me, please," Matthew asked nervously. "Have you thought of any man, any other man at all, since the day we met, and all the months since?"

Mary blinked. "No," she shook her head.

Matthew smiled anew.

"I'm not giving up and I'm not disappointed in you," he declared.

"Matthew, you can't possibly think that…" Mary interjected.

"Mary," Matthew retorted. "Would you ever consider… well, could you try and perhaps…see a life for yourself with me, if I asked you?"

"Oh, Matthew, you don't mean that," Mary said although she didn't try to remove her hand again. "You're just taking pity on me. You're a wonderful man, but terribly naïve I'm afraid. You know now I carry more baggage than the porters at King's Cross. And what about Mr. Pamuk? Won't you conjure him every time we argue?"

"No," Matthew said immediately. "I have no interest in him. And I give you my solemn vow that I would never use him against you."

Mary was stunned. Her mind raced, reaching for another argument, another reason to give him to run away from her. She had nothing left. She had told him her darkest secret, the very reason why she was in Manchester, the basis upon which she had been driven from her home, had her life taken away from her. He had listened attentively, absorbed it all, and somehow cast it aside.

She was beginning to wonder who was the bigger lost cause – her, or him?

"Then you've forgiven me?" She dared, chastising herself at the same time for the growing flicker of hope stirring with her.

"No," Matthew said seriously. "You've misunderstood me. I haven't forgiven you."

Mary drew in a sharp breath of air. Of course not. She was a fool.

"Well then," she said resignedly.

Matthew squeezed her hand, drawing her attention.

"I haven't forgiven you," he continued warmly. "Because I don't believe you need my forgiveness. Mary, these past months with you have been indescribable. I never knew it was possible to love someone the way that I love you. Whatever happened to you before, whatever life you've lived until now isn't important to me. What matters is that now it's time we lived our lives together."

"You're mad!" Mary almost shouted, but she was powerless to stop the small smile creeping across her face.

"Marriage is a long business, Matthew, especially being married to me. You know that I'll ask a great deal of you, a great deal that I have no right to ask, and that you have no need to give. Are you sure about what you're saying?" Mary said.

"I am sure," Matthew said. There was his damn smile again!

"I wish I had your courage. The truth is that I don't know if I can marry anyone, Matthew. I...I need time to think about this," Mary pleaded. She could not think properly. He still loved her…somehow. She should be leaping at his offer and to hell with her family, with James and Patrick, with Society and gossip and all of it. But, if her story had reached Manchester, then the situation was more dire than she thought. How could she in good conscience take advantage of Matthew knowing this?

"Take all the time you wish, my darling," Matthew said, and she could not help but share his smile, or squeeze his hand in silent thanks.

"I'm happy to be your suitor for now; until you are convinced I may be something else," he said firmly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, October 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Support the liberal government in their policy of social reform!" cried the man passing out leaflets. He stood with a small pack of other men. They seemed passive enough until Matthew refused the paper that was being thrust at him.<p>

"No, thank you," Matthew said politely. "You've already got my support," he added, trying to appease the man. Matthew simply desired admittance to the hospital, not a lengthy political debate.

"I hope you're not here to see Dr. Samuelson," the man said bitterly. "He's been turning away decent hard working blokes as patients. Had the gall to tell my brother he was a panel patient, not worth his time; stuck up arse thought a factory worker hurt on the job was looking for a free handout."

"Excuse me," Matthew said walking around the agitated man.

Matthew quickly entered the hospital and reached his father's office. He stopped short at the open doorway, puzzled by the scene before him, and even more by the raised angry voices of his father and his guest.

"Richard, you can't honestly believe that your pocket book is as important as the life of another human being," Dr. Crawley huffed. "We're doctors! We need to help whomever needs it!"

"This socialist mania has gone too far, Reggie," Dr, Samuelson shot back. He shrugged his shoulders lazily, as though the gesture itself would prove his point.

Matthew had met Dr. Samuelson once or twice before. Dr, Samuelson had at one time been a sort of protégé of his father. However, where his father embraced changes in medicine, this man seemed unable to do so and hid behind the past traditions and lifestyle he was accustomed to. Matthew had rarely seen him down in the wards. He seemed to prefer to stay in his office floors above and see his chosen patients by appointment only.

"Where I come from in Wisbech," Dr. Samuelson continued. "There have already been riots about this Insurance Act. Common people are turning on doctors! Can you believe that nerve? The rabble is vilifying us? They have no right to tell me how to run my own practice, and yet they shout and shout, while I must remain silent? What kind of country are we living in?"

"Yes, I'm a private doctor!" he said, his voice rising. "I pick my patients, I won't accept just anyone! This Act is humiliating to my reputation! It is not fair. Why should I take on any patient who comes through the door, file all of this paperwork so the government can settle the bills weeks or months later? It's not the England I know, Reggie!"

"Then you leave me no choice," Dr. Crawley said sternly. "We cannot have doctors practising by different rules in this hospital, let alone against the law, should it come to pass, which it will. I must, therefore, ask for your resignation."

"Just like the government you so venerate, you are unfair and unjust!" Richard shouted back.

"Perhaps I am in some cases. But, you forget that it was upon my recommendation that you were brought here. And I now find that I must advise the Board that my recommendation no longer stands. Good day, Dr. Samuelson," Dr. Crawley finished.

Dr. Crawley turned his head and saw Matthew for the first time. His stern demeanour vanished as he smiled and motioned for him to come forward.

"Maybe I should have been more like you," Dr. Samuelson said spitefully. "I wouldn't have a problem with this system if I saved all the popinjays for myself as you seem to. All the premier patients flock to you."

"This is not a patient," Dr. Crawley said with a laugh. "If you had ever been paying attention, you would know that this fine young man is rather my son."

The odious man opened his mouth to speak again, but instead huffed under his breath as he marched out of the office instead, his face red and his hands constricted tightly into fists.

"As you can deduce," Dr. Crawley said affectionately as he slapped his son on the back. "I've got a bit of a mess on my hands, and I'm sorry I won't be able to step away for lunch."

"Anything I can help with?" Matthew asked sincerely. "Perhaps some legal support about the nature of the Constitution and the bill that passed through Parliament? I could draft a memo to the board and give a presentation to the other doctors and staff so they could understand that…"

"Matthew," Dr. Crawley interrupted. "The only real problem here is my disappointment. I used to know him, Dr. Samuelson, ages ago now, but people change. I suppose this is just what happens to good men when they leave Manchester."

Matthew chuckled.

"Now, Mary should be arriving shortly," Dr. Crawley said cheerfully with a little tease in his voice. "Perhaps you can convince her to break bread with you."

"Oh," Matthew said, looking away. "She isn't really talking to me at the moment, I'm afraid."

Dr. Crawley scratched his beard at this strange detail. This was a surprise.

"Don't tell your mother," he said sheepishly as he reached inside his desk for his stash of cigars and matches.

"Come outside with me my boy and tell me all about it," he said with sympathy.

Matthew willingly followed outside to the back of the hospital. He was hoping to seek his father's counsel over lunch. This brief moment would have to do.

"Mary's cross with me because she says I've been pressuring her too much," Matthew admitted.

Dr. Crawley puffed on his cigar, closing his eyes briefly.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"It seems I can't spend time with her without bringing up the subject of our future. I don't mean to give her an ultimatum, but the fact of the matter is, I'm rather eager to get on with it," Matthew explained.

"Have you formally proposed?" Dr. Crawley asked. "Your mother never mentioned any of this to me."

"No," Matthew said. "I haven't spoken to anyone else about it. I told Mary I would give her time to think about the idea of us building a life together, but she hasn't given me any indication as to when she'll have an answer."

"It would seem difficult for her to answer a question that has not been properly asked," Dr. Crawley smiled.

"I think that she knows my feelings on the subject," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps she needs a proper proposal to give you a proper answer. Anything else is just dealing in hypotheticals, and women tend not to enjoy doing that," Dr. Crawley replied.

"You are behaving just like your mother! Oh, the dogged determination," he said wistfully. "And just like her, you need to pause a moment before you continue to bombard Mary with your feelings."

"Papa!" Matthew exclaimed in embarrassment. He knew just how long and how unwavering his Mother had been in pursuit after all. She was never shy about bragging or showing her continual love for her husband.

"I'm sorry my boy," Dr. Crawley said as he blew rings of smoke playfully. "There is no prescription I can offer you. Just know that eventually, there is no escaping a love match. Trust me." He patted his son on the shoulder again. "A person just has to feel worthy of love first. So, give Mary the time she asked for."

"Just be patient?" Matthew said with disappointment, he had expected a more grand solution after all.

"Yes. Be confident, supportive and unwavering. But do not act as though her future ought to depend on you. Using such leverage against her is not a wise strategy. Mary likes her independence, you know," Dr. Crawley said.

"But she must know that I am not pitying her," Matthew said defensively.

"Must she?" Dr. Crawley asked with a smirk.

"Well, surely she knows that I do not. She knows that I know that she would absolutely detest me basing our relationship on pity or sympathy. And since she knows that I know that she knows that I know that, then surely she must know it would never be the case," Matthew declared as though it were obvious.

Dr. Crawley looked at Matthew with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps a little less lawyering and a little more humility, Matthew. When I realized that your mother loved me, I was rendered speechless. And I was scared. I wasn't flattered or even interested at first. To me she was a silly girl with a crush, and I wouldn't humour what I knew would be a big mistake for her. I couldn't conceive of the notion being genuine, and yet she was steady and consistent. I was rather slow-witted in the game of love but when I made my mind up, I acted decisively. And I proposed earnestly. She loved me, and I loved her, and the rest was just details," Dr. Crawley boasted as he finished his cigar. "But, it did take time."

"Very well," Matthew sighed in agreement. "I'll give her time."

"And?" Dr. Crawley prompted.

"And…what?" Matthew asked.

"Give her time, and ask her properly, for God's sake!" Dr. Crawley said in amusement at his cluelessness. "You certainly do take after me," he concluded.

"Yes, Papa," Matthew smiled.

"Well," Dr. Crawley said as he dropped his cigar and smashed it under his shoe. "I'll see you later at home."

Matthew said goodbye to his father and proceeded back around the building towards the front of the hospital. He frowned as he noticed that the leaflet men were becoming peskier to the pedestrians on the street. They were throwing the papers at people that would not take them. He watched the way people were crossing the street to avoid them. How did they expect to drum up support for their cause by being rude and belligerent?

Matthew blinked as he saw Mary approaching. She had such an elegant stride as she walked down the boulevard. He enjoyed seeing her in her work clothing as she was plainly dressed and devoid of jewellery. Seeing her like this, as opposed to the more formal gowns and outfits that she wore outside of work, gave him confidence that there were things he could give her that she did not already have. He had only dared to buy her a few gifts during their courtship, small trinkets mainly, but they represented a hint of what he could offer her, what he could show her to prove himself worthy.

Suddenly, Mary was the only person still on the sidewalk, seemingly unafraid of the caddish fellows that were causing a stir. Matthew wondered if they had been a regular fixture on the block since Dr. Samuelson's policy had become known. Frowning to himself, he moved towards them.

One of the protesters whistled a catcall at Mary as she passed by. She stopped in her tracks and glared at them. They jeered and laughed as she moved through the crowd to get into the hospital.

At the same time as Mary entered the crowd, Dr. Samuelson exited the hospital. The crowd of protesters rushed towards him, sweeping up Mary in the process.

"Let me through!" Mary yelled as she tried to get out of the developing mob. They were yelling and cursing Dr. Samuelson, quickly surrounding the stunned man and blocking his path.

Matthew entered the fray and was jostled back and forth as he fought his way to Mary.

"Mary!" he called as he neared her.

"Matthew!" she looked at him in surprise.

"Well, Mr. La-dee-da is it? Little lady, you should know better than to associate yourself with a posh dressing Conservative like this one here!" a man said, stepping between Mary and Matthew. "Probably a patient of the good doctor over there. Thinks he's better than us! Just like all of their lot!"

"If you would please step aside," Matthew said firmly. "I'm merely escorting the lady away from here. We don't have any quarrel with you."

"Is that so?" the man laughed as the volume of the insults hurled at Dr. Samuelson increased. "Well suppose I don't want to take any orders from the likes of you?"

Instead of trying to wrestle past the man and get to Mary, Matthew instead moved deftly for the latch on the man's overalls.

"What the…" the protestor cried as suddenly his britches were falling down. In his confusion, he tripped and fell forward into some of his cohorts.

"Right this way, my Lady," Matthew said quietly as he pulled her towards him. She slid into his arms and swiftly matched his stride. They easily extricated themselves from the crowd and crossed the street to the safety of the far side.

Matthew didn't pay attention to the rest of the commotion, and ultimately Dr. Samuelson escaped amid a flurry of leaflets. Matthew was too busy staring at Mary, and she at him. Her whole face was flushed from the encounter, and her breathing was quick. Her hair was slightly falling out of its pins. Matthew carefully reached up and tucked a loose strand back behind her ear.

"How did you know to do that?" Mary asked her eyes wide. "I thought you were going to punch him in the face."

"I wanted to, truly," Matthew sighed. "But you might have been hurt or fallen in the aftermath, so the easiest way to get him out of our way was to take a more creative approach."

"You're bleeding!" Mary cried, noticing the blood on Matthew's hand. She took his handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped it, lifting his hand and examining it.

"It's just a small cut, Mary," Matthew smiled. "Probably from all the leaflets that were whizzing about."

"This is much deeper than a simple paper cut!" Mary frowned, wiping his hand again and squeezing it until she was satisfied the blood had stopped flowing and clotted sufficiently. "There. But you should put a bandage on it soon."

"Very well done, Nurse Crawley," Matthew smiled.

Mary shook her head at him. "I'm just a nurse's assistant," she corrected him.

"You're my Florence Nightingale," Matthew smiled.

"You really didn't care about what would happen to you, did you?" she asked quietly. "You fought your way through that mob just to get to me?"

"Of course!" Matthew frowned. "Mary, darling, I couldn't just leave you to fend for yourself. I had to protect you."

"I don't need protection, Matthew!" Mary said coldly. "I didn't tell you my secret because I want your sympathy! I'm not weak, you know!"

"I know, Mary," Matthew nodded, holding up his hands in truce. "You're strong. You've survived more hardship in one year than I have endured in my entire life. I know that you don't need my help. I just…I just want to give it to you, without conditions. It's not that I think you need it, or that I expect you to give me anything in return. It isn't a sign of weakness to accept help, Mary. And I don't give you my attention or anything else because I think you're weak. I was just hoping that, regardless of anything else, you might want me…erm, want my help, that is."

Mary blinked several times.

"You think me strong?" she asked.

"You're an irresistible force, Mary," Matthew said quietly.

Mary took a deep breath.

"And despite all the…conditions…that I told you about before, everything that I told you that you would need to endure if we were to have a future together, you're still here?" she asked.

"Yes, Mary," Matthew nodded. "For as long as you need."

"You know that…that hypothetical question that you asked me?" she said. "You must say it properly. I won't answer unless you kneel down and everything."

Matthew frowned, and then shook himself, not daring to pass up this opportunity by asking too many questions. He looked around, then quickly turned and escorted her around the building, away from passers by and prying eyes.

Glancing about and ensuring they were in a secluded area, Matthew kneeled down on the ground and took Mary's hands in his.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he smiled at her. "Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" Mary smiled. "My heroic rescuer," she lovingly chided, "Yes, I will marry you!"

Matthew wanted to kiss her, sweep her into his arms and spin her around. However, remembering propriety, as well as her insistence on secrecy, which he did not entirely understand yet, he rose and squeezed her hands.

"May I have the pleasure of celebrating properly with you over lunch, Mary?" he asked.

"Lunch would be wonderful, Matthew," Mary smiled. "And we can celebrate privately at dinner this evening," she added.

Matthew swallowed loudly and Mary laughed, following him back out to the street and towards their favourite café.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, August 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Isobel smiled at her son. But, then she turned her gaze to the clock as it chimed the passing of midnight, it was now officially morning; another day had begun.<p>

"Not quite how I finally managed to secure your father, and yet he is correct in a certain similarity of technique," her smile was warm and genuine. "Speaking of which, I should check on him," and her smile did not fade even after her bittersweet words.

"Goodnight, Matthew," she said fondly.

"Goodnight Mother," he said warmly.

Isobel left the kitchen and Matthew took the empty tea cups and put them on the counter to be washed. He felt the familiar pull of sleep as his mind wandered back to memories of his proposal and Mary's acceptance. Perhaps she could help him sleep even without being at his side, he thought as he ascended the stairs to his bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Old Nags Head Pub, Manchester England, November 1911**_

* * *

><p>"Already, Papa? It's not even noon," Matthew grumbled as he sat down.<p>

"What are you complaining about now, my boy?" Dr. Crawley asked innocently.

Matthew frowned at him, then nodded his head towards the ashtray with a lit cigar balanced on the edge.

Dr. Crawley laughed. "Well, this is a pub, Matthew. Many of the patrons smoke here. What makes you think that this one is mine?"

"I suspect very few of the patrons here insist on the most expensive brand in the city," Matthew said pointedly.

"Are you going to chastise me, or are we going to get ready for the match?" Dr. Crawley asked.

"Where are the lads?" Matthew looked around.

"I told them to meet us here at eleven, and since it's now eleven-thirty, they'll show up in another twenty minutes," Dr. Crawley declared, snapping shut his pocket watch.

The waitress approached with two pints of beer and placed them down on the table. She smiled at Matthew and nodded to Dr. Crawley and left.

"Come on, United," Dr. Crawley smiled, raising his glass.

"Come on, United," Matthew replied, clinking his glass with his father's.

They each took a drink and looked around as more and more fans began coming into the pub.

"Before the lads show up, Matthew, I wanted to ask you a few things. Have picked out any furniture for your house?"

"No," Matthew shook his head. "It's still empty. Why?"

"Well, are you leaving the decorating to Mary, then?" Dr. Crawley asked.

"No," Matthew sighed. "We…we aren't going to live together just yet. It's not what I would prefer, obviously, but Mary is still concerned about…the other thing. So she insists that we continue with our present arrangements. So my home will continue to sit locked up and empty."

Dr. Crawley took another drink, contemplating this news. "She's probably right, although I know you don't agree."

"Well of course I don't!" Matthew frowned. "Living apart from my own wife, I ask you!"

"And yet you are going along with it," Dr. Crawley smirked.

"Well I never could say no to her, why start now?" Matthew rolled his eyes and took another drink of his beer.

"Someday you'll live together, Matthew. Rest assured. And I suppose she still wants a quick and quiet ceremony at City Hall?"

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "I convinced her to let you and Mother attend with us and I have a particular date in mind. Originally Mary just wanted me to pick up a marriage license and be done with it."

"Your Mother will want a lunch at home at the very least, even if it's just the four of us," Dr. Crawley said.

"That's fine. I already told Mary that Mother would insist on at least breaking bread together after the ceremony," Matthew smiled.

"City Hall is fine for now, but you tell your fiancée that I insist on a proper Church wedding one day," Dr. Crawley warned.

"Tell her yourself," Matthew smirked. "You're likely to get further with her than I can."

Dr. Crawley shook his head. Matthew took another drink of his beer.

"Now, about this other business. Those statements that you left with me last week. Have you confirmed those amounts?" Dr. Crawley asked.

"Of course," Matthew replied. "I think you gained another fifty quid last month in interest alone. I'm thinking of moving part of it out of the shipping company and putting it into bank shares."

"Very well," Dr. Crawley nodded. "I want you to take the bonds and have them held in a separate account. Something more liquid."

"Why? Do you need the money?" Matthew asked.

"No, no, not at all," Dr. Crawley laughed. "But I want the money that will eventually go to the hospital to be held in a separate account. It'll be easier that way."

"The bonds don't represent very much of the money," Matthew said. "I thought you were going to leave more to the hospital."

"The bonds will be enough," Dr. Crawley said firmly. "After all, by the time I'm gone, it'll be worth a tidy sum, won't it?"

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Matthew nodded. "Another thirty years of interest will at least double the investment."

"Quite right," Dr. Crawley said softly, taking another drink.

Matthew looked at his father carefully. He seemed deep in thought.

"Now, who's starting today? I can never get these lineups straight," Dr. Crawley said cheerfully.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, September 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"That's it, all done!" Mary smiled at her patient, the young girl's face still curled into a grimace. "That wasn't so bad now, was it, my dear?"<p>

"No," came the quiet reply. She looked down at her arm, the long scar still visible but noticeably cleaner. Mary placed the bowl of water, wash cloths and towel on the cart and looked back and patted the girl's shoulder.

"Now, you're all done for today. I'll be back in the morning to check in on you and clean your arm again. Depending on what Dr. Edgar says, you might be able to go home tomorrow afternoon," Mary smiled encouragingly.

The young girl's eyes lit up and she managed a cautious smile. "Do you really think so, Miss Crawley?"

Mary grinned, both at the girl's expression and her using such a proper title for Mary. "It'll be up to the doctor, but I certainly hope so. Being stuck in here isn't any fun, is it?"  
>"No!" the girl replied immediately. Her mouth then dropped open. "That is, I don't mean to be ungrateful for all you've done for me, Miss Crawley. It's just that my friends are all in school you see, and I…"<p>

"It's all right," Mary nodded. "You belong with your friends, not here."

"Do you think that Nurse Isobel will be by to see me before I go?" the girl asked hopefully.

Mary swallowed slightly. "I don't know, dear. Nurse Isobel isn't working tomorrow, I'm afraid. But, I can pass on a message to her, if you like. I was already going to tell her how brave you've been and how much progress you've made."

"You would do that?" the girl smiled. "Yes, please, Miss Crawley, thank you! If you could tell Nurse Isobel that I'm very glad to have met her, and that I will keep up my reading just as I promised her I would. And could you also tell her to tell Dr. Crawley that I'm going to read _Great Expectations_ as soon as I get a chance?"

Mary blinked at the mention of her father-in-law's name. She kept the smile on her face and nodded, slowly rising from the bed and busying herself with the cart.

"I'll tell her all of that, and I'm sure Nurse Isobel and Dr. Crawley will be very glad to hear from you. Now, get some rest and I'll see you in the morning," Mary managed, smiling at the girl, then quickly leaving the room.

Mary went to her locker, grateful that no one else was using the change room at the same time. She took deep breaths to calm herself as she buttoned her jacket and adjusted her hat. The last two weeks had been difficult, with patients and even other staff members wondering where Isobel and Dr. Crawley were and when they would be returning. Isobel had been gone for the past four days, as her husband's worsening condition required that she be with him at all hours.

The hospital seemed somehow dull and dreary without both of them there. Even though Mary had earned more responsibilities and was far more comfortable with her tasks and duties now, knowing she would not have Isobel's guiding hand and Dr. Crawley's wit to accompany her each day was draining on her. She felt as though she had gone back to the very first day that Lord Merton had left her in Cassandra's clutches, stuck in the hospital with nothing to look forward to.

Mary walked briskly through the hospital and out the door. She needed to be brave and strong and had no time to wallow in her own misfortune now. She had dutifully served her patients and now with evening having arrived, it was time for her to serve a far more important person.

She stopped suddenly as she looked up and saw Matthew across the street. He was sitting on the bench as usual, waiting for her to emerge. He was different though, and Mary's hand went to her mouth as panic gripped her. His shoulders were slumped, his head hung low, his arms dangling at his sides. He looked like a broken marionette, lifeless and boneless, and when his eyes rose to meet hers, they looked empty.

Mary swallowed and narrowed her eyes. Ignoring their usual protocol, the one she herself insisted upon, she crossed the street and came to his side. Matthew rose from the bench in surprise.

"Someone could see us," he whispered, glancing around.

Mary looked at him sadly. His eyes were puffy and the deep blue colour that she had fallen in love with seemed pale and faded. She touched his arm, gently urging him to turn in the direction of his parents' home. He moved slowly, each step reluctant and plodding. Mary fell in step with him, keeping her hands to herself, but staying close to him.

They usually turned on to quieter side streets and avoided the busy main roads of the city centre. On their normal walks, Mary did not risk linking arms with her husband for fear that someone from the hospital could see them and recognize them, but when they were a safe distance away, they would joke and laugh, steal quick kisses and flirt back and forth. Despite her insistence that they keep their marriage a secret, Mary actually enjoyed getting her husband worked up during their walks, leaving him in quite a state when they reached his home and she could escape to speak to Isobel. On several occasions, Matthew had turned the tables on her, announcing to her surprise that his parents weren't home just before he scooped her up and carried her upstairs to his bedroom.

This time though, Matthew could only stare at the ground, relying on his feet to carry him down the familiar route. No words were spoken, and Mary did not attempt conversation. There was no use trying to buoy his mood now. She would need all of her energy for later, as she knew that their world would fall apart when they reached his parents' home. It was clear in Matthew's defeated expression and posture, and really this sense of dread that she felt had been building increasingly over the past week. The sad reality was upon them. The horrible moment had arrived.

They would lose Dr. Crawley tonight.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Tell me about your home."<p>

Mary frowned in surprise, looking from her book to Dr. Crawley. She was sitting with him while Isobel was downstairs speaking to Mrs. Bird about lunch.

"You're supposed to be napping until luncheon," Mary replied.

"Well I am awake at the moment. If you're going to be my substituted nursemaid, then you're going to have to humour me from time to time, Mary," Dr. Crawley smirked, his eyes still closed.

Mary was working the afternoon shift at the hospital today, which gave her the morning to spend with Isobel and Dr. Crawley. She had been spending most of her waking hours here since learning of Dr. Crawley's diagnosis. No one at Lady Philomena's home knew her schedule, so it seemed perfectly normal when Mary left early in the morning and returned after dinner. They all assumed she was at work the entire time.

On the mornings she could spare, she made sure to arrive before Matthew left for the office. Matthew was keeping shorter hours anyway, but she wanted to see him off when she could just the same. This morning, Matthew greeted her in the front hall, and once Davis had left, he pulled her into a fierce kiss, embracing her tightly to him. She returned his fervour and clutched him close to her, opening her mouth to allow his tongue access. She was no longer shocked at his behaviour. Matthew slept fitfully these days, and he refused to admit to his parents how he dreaded waking up each morning to some worse news about his father. Seeing Mary gave him an outlet, a way to pour his anger and despair and frustration out through his passion, a way for him to feel something besides the numbness of his pending loss. He would finally pull back, apologizing again and again for his conduct, and Mary would caress his face, kissing him chastely several times, telling him it was all right before he escorted her through to have breakfast.

"Lady Philomena's house is quite nice, actually," Mary said coldly. "The décor is rather old and not to my taste, but it suits her."

"I didn't mean your boarding house," Dr. Crawley huffed. "Tell me about your _home_, Mary."

Mary glared at him, his closed eyes and smug expression making her angry. He loved teasing all of them, as though it was his last indulgence, his last weapon to assert his place as head of the family, his wit the only means left for him to feel normal.

"You know it's not my home anymore," Mary retorted.

"Well, seeing as you won't move in with my son, and Lady Philomena's is but a temporary residence, I'm afraid that Yorkshire has to remain on the list somewhere," Dr. Crawley replied easily.

Mary sighed, rolling her eyes and closing her book. Dr. Crawley could be almost as infuriating as his son.

"Fine. What do you want to know?" she surrendered.

"I expect it's a rather large house," Dr. Crawley began.

"It is. One of the oldest homes in Yorkshire," Mary answered. She recited facts and figures about Downton Abbey, still stamped on her brain from hours of being drilled on how to properly present her home when meeting with suitors.

"Where did you play as a girl?" Dr. Crawley asked quietly.

Mary swallowed, her eyes widening. "I used to ride horses," she said softly.

"And what was your horse's name?"

"Diamond. He's adorable. Always does what I tell him, and hates anyone else to take him out besides me. He even tried to throw Lynch, our stable man once," Mary smirked.

"Did you go riding with your sisters?"

"On occasion, but neither of them enjoy it particularly. Sybil prefers walking. Edith likes to stay indoors. I usually went riding to get away from the rest of them. It was a time during the day when I knew I would be free of everything and on my own," Mary said.

"Where would you go?"

"Numerous places, depending on my mood. I could ride into the Village, but usually it was across the fields. When the weather was nice it seemed as though our lands stretched on forever. I would let Diamond loose a bit and just go towards the horizon," she smiled at the memory.

"It sounds like a wonderful place," Dr. Crawley smiled.

Mary looked back at him, seeing his eyes open now, his gaze bright and friendly, so in contrast to the harsh wheeze of his breathing.

"It was," Mary nodded. "The land has always been like a piece of Heaven. It's the people who turned it into something else."

"You must miss it though, if only a little?" Dr. Crawley continued. "It must be quite different for you to be stuck here in our industrial outpost in the North."

"Different, yes," Mary agreed. "But much better."

"Mary, I know that you've tried to forget all about your home and your family. But, you see, life sometimes has a way of…"

The door opened, and Isobel came in.

"Mrs. Bird is preparing your tray. It will be brought up shortly. Mary, why don't you go downstairs and have something to eat?" Isobel smiled.

"Of course. Thank you," Mary nodded politely. She turned to Dr. Crawley, who nodded to her in thanks, and she rose from her chair and left the bedroom.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Cathedral, Victoria Street, Manchester, England, September 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>The Church was full to capacity. Matthew expected to see many faces, both old and new, turn out to bid goodbye to his father, but seeing standing room only in the large hall was both satisfying and sad. He knew his father had touched so many lives, from patients and their families to staff and even local merchants and shopkeepers that he frequented. Matthew could not help but think of how empty many of their lives would be without his father around.<p>

Isobel had generously told him to go sit down early on, standing at the door and accepting condolences was proving to be too much for him. He kept searching the room for Mary, even though he knew she would not appear until later. He had walked slowly down the aisle and sat down in the first pew, staring at his note cards again, and getting up stiffly when the odd well-wisher would come forward to speak to him. Looking up at the altar, Matthew breathed deeply, waiting for the guests to be seated so the service could begin. He was grateful that he would be facing the audience when he gave the eulogy. He did not know if he could make this speech if he had to look at the casket.

Mary dabbed her eyes one last time before she took a deep breath and walked out into the main hall. She had cried a lot over the last few days, but she would need to be composed now. Nurses and staff who had worked with Dr. Crawley for years would be beside themselves with grief. Mary Crawley, who everyone thought had only known Dr. Crawley in passing, could not break down. She wasn't supposed to know him very well. She wasn't supposed to be affected by his loss.

It seemed unjust that Mary's thoughts should go back to her own family on this sad day, when all of her energy ought to be focused on Matthew and Isobel, but she could not help it when her anger would boil from time to time. Because of what happened at Downton, she could not properly mourn her father-in-law at his own funeral. She could not sit with her husband and her mother-in-law and comfort them as she ought to. To all of Manchester she was merely a nurse's assistant who was coming to pay her respects along with the other hospital staff. Some would believe she was only here out of respect for Isobel, who she worked with from time to time. Others may have the gall to think she was here because she wanted to shirk her duties and take advantage of the time off. Mary steeled herself moved towards her seat. She had chosen the direction her life was on now, and there was no time to care about what others thought about her anymore.

As she walked behind the last row of pews towards the far aisle, she noticed several latecomers standing at the back of the Church. She was somewhat glad to see such a large turnout. It seemed fitting that even the Cathedral could not contain all of Dr. Crawley's friends and admirers. It was somehow fitting, a man who cared not about popularity or accolades had drawn more mourners than some noblemen who spent their entire lives currying favour.

"Mary?" a voice called in surprise.

Mary turned and her eyes narrowed as she saw her Godfather standing at the back of the Church with the other stragglers who could not find a seat.

"Lord Merton," Mary nodded coldly.

"I didn't realize you would be coming," Lord Merton said, his face clearly showing his astonishment at her presence.

"Many of the hospital staff are here," Mary said forcefully. "We all liked Dr. Crawley very much."

"You don't need to follow everything the staff does, Mary," Lord Merton shook his head. "Only those who knew Dr. Crawley should be here." Lord Merton frowned.

"I am here," Mary answered firmly. "Because Dr. Crawley was a very fine gentleman. I worked with him enough to know he never put on airs when speaking to anyone, regardless of their station."

Mary did not bother saying goodbye as she turned and went back to her seat. She could not help but roll her eyes at the exchange, and she took a small amount of satisfaction in knowing she had a seat in the Church while the distinguished Lord Merton had to stand at the back. She put her Godfather out of her mind and focused on Matthew, sitting several rows ahead of her. As she looked at him, he turned his head and looked back at her out of the corner of his eye.

Mary smiled. Matthew nodded and looked back to the altar.

The Bishop called for attention as the service began.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew's grip on Mary's hand was firm and unrelenting. He had reached for it as they approached his parents' home and did not let go. She stood close by his side, every step seeming to take greater effort, every movement becoming laboured as they approached the door.<p>

Davis directed them upstairs. They went to his parents' bedroom, and Isobel met them in the hallway. She had obviously been crying, her eyes were red and wet. She nodded to them, then walked briskly past them and went back downstairs. Mary watched her go and sighed in regret. Isobel had stayed at her husband's side throughout, and never left him alone. She and Dr. Crawley had taken their dinner in their bedroom the past few days so she could be next to him. Now though, she had stepped aside momentarily to allow Matthew this final visit in private.

Mary felt her chest tightening. She did not want to say goodbye and she did not want to intrude on her husband's moment with his father. Despite all the kindness shown to her, and how she felt a part of this family now, she wanted Matthew to have this last conversation alone, uninterrupted by outsiders.

She turned towards Matthew and embraced him. She felt his body shake slightly and she ran her hand up and down his back soothingly. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and she closed her eyes. Matthew's hold felt so warm and safe, even in this time of tragedy. She loved him desperately, more than anything else in the world, she realized, and so her heart ached all the more, knowing the pain he was feeling was cutting him deeply.

"Darling," Mary whispered. "I'm going to go downstairs and sit with your mother. Take as much time as you need."

When Matthew finally released her from his arms, she stepped back and moved to walk away.

Matthew took her hand and pulled her back gently, still refusing to let her go.

"Mary," he whispered, his voice choked, the tears running down his face.

She embraced him again, his arms pulling her closer, his head falling into her shoulder, burying himself in her hair.

"I'll just be downstairs, Matthew," she said soothingly.

Matthew pulled back, his hands holding hers. He looked at her, his eyes vacant.

"It's time for us to say goodbye to Papa, Mary," he whispered.

Mary nodded and squeezed his hands, taking a deep breath and stepping with him towards the door. Matthew turned the doorknob with a shaking hand and pushed the door open for her. Mary stepped resolutely over the threshold into the dark room, holding Matthew's hand firmly, and guiding him forward towards the dim light next to the bed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Betsy, Mrs. Bird's kitchen girl, answered the quiet knock to the back door of the house. She ushered Mary inside with a sad smile. The young woman's eyes were tired and forlorn. Mary knew the look well by now, and shared a knowing glance with her.<p>

The girl took Mary's wet umbrella. A rather steamy and unpleasant rain was falling outside; apparently even the weather was being melodramatic about the day's sad circumstances.

"Mrs. Crawley is with friends in the parlour," Betsy said with a quiver in her voice. "Mr. Matthew is upstairs. He's been waiting for you, coming down every few minutes and reminding us that you'd be coming in through the back door," she said gamely. The young girl stepped closer and whispered, "He hasn't eaten a scrap of food, Lady Mary."

Mary looked at the vast selection of baked goods and other such comforting dishes that Mrs. Bird had been churning out. She watched as the cook paced nervously in front of the oven. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells. Mary nodded sympathetically. She took a few pastries and sandwiches on a plate and went up the back stairs, deliberately avoiding the front of the house where others could see her.

As she reached the second floor she walked briskly towards Matthew's bedroom. She paused along the west wall, as several photographs were hung amongst a large oil painting of the family. Mary had always thought it rather odd that these were displayed in a private wing of the home, rather than in the parlour or library where they would be visible to guests. By contrast, an entire room of Downton Abbey was dominated by the large portraits of the past Earls of Grantham, demanding attention from all around. She stared at the composed expression on Dr. Crawley's face, never yielding; unflinching in his steady countenance. There was something in his eyes, a twinkle of mischief comingled with the promise of compassion.

Matthew's door was open and she saw him only half dressed in his mourning suit. He stood absentmindedly in front of the window. The rain was knocking against the shutters, but Matthew did not flinch. His feet were bare and his white shirt was untucked, falling sloppily over his trousers. There was a black tie in his clenched hands. She called his name, but he did not move. Mary stepped into the room and gently touched his shoulder as she reached his side.

"Matthew," she said tenderly.

"Mary," Matthew replied. He offered her his free hand and she took it lovingly. He frowned as she placed the plate on the table in front of him.

"I've been told you haven't eaten," Mary said softly.

Matthew only shrugged, his gaze turning away. She ran her hand up and down the length of his back soothingly. He exhaled slowly and loudly, then looked at her pleading expression. He nodded grudgingly and took up a sandwich, eating it quickly.

She continued to massage his back as he ate a little more. She could have scolded him for not eating, but she knew that wouldn't work. In the past weeks he had needed her softer side, her compassion. If only her family could see her now, she thought ruefully. Those who thought they knew her always said the same thing – Lady Mary Crawley is cold; Lady Mary Crawley doesn't have a heart. She did very little to convince them otherwise. What they never knew, and what she herself barely knew before she arrived in Manchester, was that she could focus her strength against the adversity of grief, and even devote her resolve to helping where she could. Mary noticed Matthew's gaze was now staring at books on his bedside table. However, before she could speak again, Matthew's quiet voice filled the room. The strained lines on his forehead and the redness of his eyes made it seem as though his voice would be hoarse or strained; and yet it was crisp and articulate.

"I think it helped him," Matthew said. "I sat with Papa and read aloud to him from the Odyssey. Although he did rasp as he asked me, _Odysseus?_ _How old do you think I am?_ When I first told him of the comparison….."

Mary smiled.

"Even when Odysseus is offered immortality, he is not interested; for all he wants is to go home and to see his family," Matthew said quietly.

"Matthew," she said cautiously. "Your father said _no wallowing_."

His mouth opened, but he did not answer before he exhaled a shaky breath.

"Yes, and he left you in charge of me. A wise decision."

Matthew squeezed her hand and nodded. Mary took the tie from his grasp.

"Since you do not have a valet, I suppose I shall occupy the post for today," she said with affection. Mary stepped forward and pecked him on the cheek before releasing his hand. She studied the clothes that presumably had been laid out for his mourning attire.

"A white vest?" Mary inquired.

Matthew cleared this throat. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm not mad; it's actually a little tradition that Papa wanted me to continue."

Mary looked over at him curiously.

"Grandpapa Lionel wore it out of defiance when his twin brother died. They were young lads who had been fishing together, crossing a pond when the ice broke. He couldn't rescue Arthur."

Matthew paused, he bit his lip as his eyes watered.

"Well, my grandfather wore the vest to signify that his brother would always be with him. The white vest showed his faith that he wouldn't ever forget him. His memories would be the light in the darkness of his grief."

"A fitting tribute," Mary said. She picked up the white vest reverently as she helped him dress. He finally managed with her assistance to dress, saving his cufflinks for last.

"Darling," Mary said breaking the comfortable silence. "You know that I will be with you at the funeral, even though I can't sit with you and your mother."

Matthew's nervous tremor caused him to drop one of his cufflinks, and Mary picked it up from the floor.

"I know," he said with resignation. "All hospital staff is to occupy the pews behind Mother and myself."

"So, I will be behind you," Mary said gently as she stroked his back again. She then fussed with the knot in his tie.

Matthew nodded glumly.

"I wish you could sit next to me, where you belong," Matthew said quietly.

"I wish it too," Mary replied.

Matthew went back to finishing his cuffs. Now was not the time to talk about what was to come for them, though he found that he was thinking of his father's instructions constantly.

"Have you finished the eulogy?" She asked, helping him with the pocket watch as the chain was tangled.

"I'm still not certain it's good enough for him, but I have hopefully captured his spirit in what I am going to say."

"And what will you say?" Mary asked, tenderly prodding him. She knew he needed a little practice.

Matthew reached inside the pocket of the white vest and withdrew his note cards. On one side of the first one was a drawing of a cross and a patch of flowers with the caption, _Peace. Perfect peace_; on the opposite side was Matthew's neat handwriting.

"I'll start with what Prince George said when his father King Edward died, "_He was my best friend and the best of fathers. I never had a cross word from him in my life. I am heart-broken and overwhelmed with grief._"

Mary put her hand over his heart and Matthew then brought it to his lips for a kiss.

"Did you know that I once met King Edward?" Matthew asked nostalgically. He stowed the cards back in his pocket.

Mary's eyebrows rose in surprise. She had never heard this story before.

"It's true," he said bravely smiling at the memories. "He came to Manchester, to open the hospital following the renovation. The board of directors, which included my father, received him and gave him a tour of the new facilities. After the ribbon cutting he shook hands with the families of each doctor. I was so excited to meet the King, but frankly I remember being shocked because he wasn't as tall as he looked in pictures."

Mary laughed, contemplating such a scene. She couldn't imagine why his family never seemed to mention such spectacular circumstances, when they had every reason to brag. The Crawley men in Manchester were quite alien to the Crawley men she knew growing up.

"Yes, that was a good day. But, what Father really cared about was not meeting the King, but that Manchester and the hospital should be in the spotlight."

"Naturally," Mary said fondly.

"To conclude the eulogy for Papa," Matthew licked his lips and took a deep breath. "I think I will quote from the beginning of the Odyssey."

_Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. __  
><em>_And so we ask ourselves: will our actions echo across the centuries? __  
><em>_Will strangers hear our names long after we're gone and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved?"_

"I'm sure there won't be a dry eye and the Church will be full to bursting," Mary said tenderly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Cathedral, Victoria Street, Manchester, England, September 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary filed out of the Church with the other guests. She fiddled with her pearl necklace. Her hat and veil covered her pale skin against the sun as she paused on the steps, the other guests leaving to go back to work or wherever their paths would take them. Mary sighed. Wearing the necklace and matching earrings that Matthew gave her was hardly a sufficient substitute for being at his side. His eulogy was beautiful and achieved the emotional reaction that she expected. As a result, he was surrounded when the service ended and Mary had to quietly slip away. She did not expect to see him until later anyway, and it would seem odd for her to give condolences to a man she was not supposed to know.<p>

"Excuse me," a voice called.

Mary turned and stared wide eyed as Matthew came up to her.

"Yes?" She managed to reply, frowning at him. What was he doing? Most of Manchester was all around them.

"Is your name Mary? You work at the hospital?" Matthew asked. "My mother wanted to speak to you. She won't be going back to the hospital this afternoon of course and she said she had a patient she wanted to tell you about."

"Of course," Mary nodded. "I can convey any message."

Matthew was instantly surrounded once again and he motioned for Mary to go back inside. She went back into the Church and took a seat. Isobel was speaking to the Bishop near the altar.

Mary raised her head when she heard the heavy doors close behind her. The hall was now empty and Matthew came up beside her, his face downcast and his shoulders slumped.

Mary rose and took his hand, grateful for his foresight in finding an excuse to bring her back inside. They walked silently towards the casket. Isobel walked out of the hall with the Bishop, giving Mary an understanding glance before leaving.

They stood in front of the casket together, in their own private moment with Dr. Crawley, the rest of the world kept at bay beyond the Church doors.

"It isn't the way he imagined it, I know," Matthew said softly. "But he would have been happy to be here, with the two of us at a Church altar."

Mary smiled sadly, looking up from the casket to her husband. She stroked his cheek with her gloved hand and nodded to him.

"I remember what he said," she replied. "He wanted a proper Church wedding for us someday."

Mary smiled, looking back at the casket.

"He loved you, you know," Matthew said firmly. "I think if we had ever fallen out, he probably would have disowned me and kept you."

Mary chuckled sadly, shaking her head. "He loved me for your sake. He cared about your happiness and it was enough for him to accept me to know that I made you happy somehow."

She turned and embraced Matthew. He had to move his head around the brim of her hat, but he didn't mind.

"You do," he whispered. "I don't think I could have survived these past weeks alone."

"You're never alone," Mary whispered, running her hands across his back. "I'm never letting you go, darling."

Matthew seemed to sag against her and she held him, whispering her love to him gently. He sobbed quietly into her shoulder.

Despite the heartbreaking loss of their patriarch and the biggest supporter of their marriage, Mary said a silent prayer of thanks that she could be here to support Matthew and have one last private moment with her family.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Home of Lady Philomena Grey, Manchester, England, October 1912.**_

* * *

><p>Mary stirred her tea. Her eyes looked blankly at the kitchen counter top. She came downstairs to pour herself a cup, then disappear back to the attic. She found she enjoyed the kitchen. It was usually empty as Lady Philomena's servants only busied themselves around meal times, and on days like today, when Lady Philomena was scheduled to take luncheon out with friends, the kitchen was a quiet sanctuary.<p>

"Lady Mary," a voice called.

Mary frowned and slowly turned. She wondered for a second if another woman named Mary had moved into the home. Surely no one would deliberately address her by name, and most definitely the woman standing in the doorway would not do so for any reason.

"Lady Philomena," Mary said carefully. "Hello. I wasn't expecting you."

"I need to give the staff some instructions before I depart for luncheon," Lady Philomena explained in a bored tone. "I noticed that you weren't at Church last Sunday."

Mary blinked. She kept her expression composed, but her mind was working quickly through the numerous reasons as to why Lady Philomena would even know she went to Church, and why she would bother ever looking for her.

"I wasn't feeling up for it," Mary said, deciding there was no harm in being honest. What explanation did she owe her distinguished landlady, after all?

"Of course you weren't," Lady Philomena nodded. "Weeks later and I imagine many at the hospital are still vexed."

Mary frowned in confusion.

"The passing of Dr. Crawley," Lady Philomena continued. "Must have been a horrible shock."

"Yes," Mary said plainly. She was surprised that Lady Philomena even knew about Dr. Crawley.

"I'd met him once or twice, at a fundraiser or some other hospital event," Lady Philomena waved her hand. "And he seemed a nice fellow."

"He was," Mary replied a bit too quickly. "A very nice fellow," she looked down at her hands.

"My dear brother told me that Manchester Cathedral was overflowing for the service," Lady Philomena noted. "The hospital will be full of people wearing black for months I expect."

Mary could only nod and remain silent. She felt horribly that she could not properly mourn her father-in-law. She had worn black for a week after the funeral, but then had to change to colours to avoid suspicious questions as to why she was mourning Dr. Crawley for longer than an employee ought to. Despite Matthew's repeated assurances that he understood, she felt she somehow was letting him down, that it was yet another example of how she could not be a proper wife to him.

"Well, I'll need to round up the servants," Lady Philomena declared. She turned and walked off towards the dining room without giving Mary a proper goodbye.

Mary stared after her for several moments, replaying the bizarre and unexpected conversation in her mind. It was almost as though Lady Philomena was showing a basic form of courtesy to her. Mary shook her head, took her tea cup and made her way towards the stairs. It was far more plausible that Lord Merton had instructed Lady Philomena to inquire as to why Mary was at the funeral and what her relationship to Dr. Crawley actually was. Whatever the mission, Mary was confident she'd revealed nothing. As she reached her room and began picking out a dark navy blue outfit to wear to the hospital, she reminded herself that this strange encounter with Lady Philomena was yet another reason why she needed to be vigilant in her discretion about her marriage to Matthew, and why he needed to as well.

After she finished dressing, Mary sat down at the small desk in the corner. She had just enough time to finish her letter to Sybil before leaving for the hospital. Her youngest sister was the only family member that Mary kept in touch with – the only link to her old life that still existed really. Any contact with her parents would be too angry, and any communication with Edith would be too indifferent. Mary still adored Sybil to this day, and so their letters were heartfelt and warm. Sometimes a short note from her Granny was contained in Sybil's correspondence – nothing longer than a few words of support. Still, Mary did take solace in knowing that the Dowager Countess continued to think of her, even if the rest of her family did not.

Sybil's latest letters contained news of the family's time in London during the Season and their father's fervent belief that James and Patrick would still be found, despite it now being over six months since the disaster. Mary shook her head at this information from her sister. Lord Grantham still seemed to be delusional, or lack common sense, when it came to some things.

As Mary reviewed what she had written so far, her fingers played with her locket necklace. Matthew had bought it for her on their wedding day, telling her she could store all of their memories inside it, thereby keeping him with her even when they could not act married to the outside world. Any threat to the life she had built here was unwelcome. She longed to hear that her cousins had survived simply for her own reasons, as it would confirm once and for all that she did not need to think of Downton again and could continue on with her life in Manchester without further threat. Every day she secretly scoured the newspapers, reading for any sign of the esteemed lords of Grantham returning triumphantly to England. Thus far, there had been nothing.

When thinking about so many lives lost and dreams snuffed out when the great ship sank, Mary inevitably turned to her own personal loss, and all the memories that she and Matthew would not get to share with his father. She knew now that the real tragedy in her life had not occurred at Downton, and that if she could change anything about the past two years, oddly enough it would not be her banishment.

Mary stared at the page, her pen poised above the parchment. How easy it would be to share every detail with her youngest sister – about her life, about Matthew, about how she never wanted to return to Yorkshire, never needed to set foot there ever again. But even though Mary was certain that Sybil would be happy for her, committing such details to paper was dangerous and unadvisable. She was certain that Sybil was not the only one who read her letters.

_"Dearest Sybil,_

_As of late, I've had an absolutely wretched time in Manchester. Everything that was going so surprisingly well here has now faltered and seemed less encouraging. It makes me heartsick, and reminds me that life can be terribly unfair, can't it? Everything seems so golden one minute, then turns to ashes the next. I suppose everyone feels this way at one time or another. If facing these same emotions just last year, I would have thought my life was somehow slipping away and there was nothing I could do to stop it._

_And yet, truth be told darling, I still feel more love and support here in my surrogate home than I ever did at Downton. It's rather like I'm through the looking glass, the mirror reflecting where I have been._

_I now know what is truly paramount. I know what to value and what not to take for granted. And I know what it feels like to be valued, Sybil. I'm actually lucky, and darling, I hope that you get to experience this feeling of safety and warmth for yourself someday. The odd thing is, despite some rather sad recent events, I feel I understand what it is to be happy, and I know for certain now that we all truly deserve it."_

Mary concluded her letter with a fond salutation to her little sister. She addressed and stamped the envelope before placing it in her purse. Her task completed, she made her way downstairs. She had a short shift ahead of her, and afterward she wanted to take lunch with Isobel. She remembered her promise to Dr. Crawley to take care of both Matthew and his mother, and she thought it helped her, and them, to spend as much time together as possible.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Reginald and Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"What do you do when you're sad, Mary? To comfort yourself, that is," Dr. Crawley rasped. His quiet voice struggled to form the words, a severe contrast to the strength of his question. Mary looked at him, pondering his question as he observed her reaction.<p>

"Isobel ignores it, soldiering on despite whatever emotions are swirling inside of her," Dr. Crawley explained. "Matthew retreats into himself," Dr. Crawley coughed before continuing. "But, you my dear, I think you face sadness straight on. Directly. Am I right?"

Mary fought back tears at the accurate diagnosis.

"Of course, you're right," she said, nodding her head. "As a child I wasn't ever allowed to be sad…"

Mary shuddered at the memory of how this harsh rule had been drilled into her from a young age. Her nanny, her parents, and of course Cousin James all repeated to her that stoicism was expected, without exceptions and that sentimentality was pointless.

Mary had developed a hard edge as a result of this indoctrination, but there were moments where she questioned this attitude. Sybil had been such a fussy baby, always crying, always seeking comfort, and it was Mary who often soothed her. Edith had never cried that way, and Mary had never felt the need to attach herself to her middle sister. But Sybil needed more attention, particularly when Nanny and Mama were more likely to scold her than soothe her. Mary discovered for herself the satisfaction of being useful, of being valued, of taking pride in being able to help others.

"Well," Dr. Crawley said, his raspy whisper still filled with confidence. "I'll tell you what I've told them in the past, hopefully with more success. I give you permission to feel sad if necessary, Mary, and to not feel as if you must be cold and careful. You don't need my permission of course, but we never know what we really need, do we? Not until we need it, anyway. And you do not need to hide yourself, not around us."

Mary nodded and sniffled quietly. Every conversation could be their last. She found it especially difficult to maintain her composure when Isobel or Matthew was in the room with Dr. Crawley. Watching this family that had taken her in, that had rescued her, fall apart day by day was crushing and made their loss all the more tragic.

"I think about my first day at the hospital rather often, you know," Mary whispered. "You found me at my lowest moment. I was adrift, confused, I didn't even think to clean the pills after I'd dropped them all over the floor. If you hadn't gone out of your way to speak to me, my life now would be…well," Mary couldn't finish as her chest seemed to tighten.

"We can't go back in time. It is unhealthy," Dr. Crawley said kindly.

"Mary," Isobel called from the doorway. "I'll take over. Go and rest."

Mary glanced back and saw Matthew waiting in the hallway. Mary nodded to Isobel and rose from her chair. She looked back at Dr. Crawley and smiled, then left the room to give Isobel and her husband privacy, moving quickly to Matthew's side and taking his hand as she led him to his bedroom.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, October 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>The hospital was full of tributes to Dr. Crawley in both evident and subtle ways. His picture that hung with the other members of the board of directors was shrouded with black cloth, as was the clock by his open office door. He had worked at the hospital since he was a youth of seventeen, a volunteer apprentice and had given fifty years of service to the institution. A plaque was soon to be placed recognizing the achievement. Everyone it seemed was wearing a black armband in remembrance. Even Cassandra looked sombre as their paths crossed. Mary worked quickly and without emotion. She would only smile in nostalgia when she saw Dr. Crawley's handwriting on a chart or dealt with patients who knew him. Otherwise, she wanted to be done and out of the hospital as soon as possible.<p>

When her pledged hours were completed for the day, she went in search of Isobel. She found her sitting with a middle-aged woman, clearly waiting with her for news on a patient. Isobel was dressed completely in black, with only a white nursing apron above her clothing. It reminded Mary of Matthew's white vest and she smiled at the image. Isobel patted the woman's hand kindly as Dr. Boyd approached. After a brief conversation, the relief was palpable on the wife's face and she thanked Dr. Boyd profusely before being escorted to the recovery room. Isobel and Dr. Boyd excused themselves and walked over to another hallway. Mary approached them, but stood off to the side, waiting for the right moment to interrupt and get Isobel's attention.

"I'm glad I was able to bring good news," Dr. Boyd said. "Her husband will recover and be able to provide for his wife as a husband should."

"Yes, a good outcome today. Thank you for your kind speech to Mrs. Allen," Isobel said politely. "I've grown used to you acting in your administrative capacity with the Board that I sometimes forget you're still a decent doctor."

Dr. Boyd smiled at the joke. "I try," he said kindly. "I know how concerning it can be to face the idea of losing one's spouse. When my Barbara passed, I didn't think there would be a way forward for me. Thankfully I had my work, but you know, Isobel, sometimes that's not enough. Sometimes, we need more, and…"

"Everyone is different," Isobel said, abruptly interrupting him before he could finish. She paused and smiled courteously. "Thank you Dr. Boyd."

"That's so formal," Dr. Boyd said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "You used to call me Albert," he said. "I would enjoy it if you did so again."

Isobel glanced away and noticed Mary waiting for her. She smiled, relieved at the diversion.

"Miss Crawley," she said brightly. "Excuse me, Dr. Boyd," she said as she moved away from him. "I must return to my work."

"Of course," Dr. Boyd nodded. He watched as Isobel walked past him, then quickly went in the other direction.

"Before I leave," Mary said quietly. "I would like to treat you to tea and biscotti in the commissary."

"Not today, my dear. I'm afraid I've fallen behind," Isobel smiled. "Though we should eat together sometime this week. Consider it a thank you for your help with Dr. Boyd just now."

Mary chuckled at Isobel's implication. It was strange how her mother-in-law could use humour to help her through this difficult time, but Mary was impressed all the same.

"Will you be at dinner tonight?" Isobel inquired.

"Yes, of course," Mary confirmed.

"Good," Isobel said graciously. "Now, I know you're done for the day, so go along. Don't fret about me. And don't hold anything against Dr. Boyd. He is right. We've known each other for a very long time. But I'm afraid he's too late. There was only one man for me, and no one's good intentions will change that," she said as her voice almost broke.

Mary nodded in understanding.

Isobel cleared her throat, "Go to Matthew," she said with encouragement. "He needs you. I had to leave him at home with all of Reginald's belongings to go through, and I fear what he may have gotten himself into."

"I'll go there now," Mary said.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, October 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary walked around the manicured lawn of what was now Isobel's home. The black crepe with black ribbon was still on the front door. Bouquets of flowers left by well wishers were arranged in the windows, so abundant they seemed to form a virtual shrine. In the week of the funeral, it seemed there was a constant line of people passing in and out of the house. Even now, weeks later, she knew that letters and cards were still coming in each day.<p>

She proceeded to the back door of the house. Though it would appear normal for an unescorted lady to call at the home during this time of mourning, she never could be sure who she might run into, so she kept to the less conspicuous route. As she rounded the back of the home, she saw Davis appear. He was emptying tobacco from the large humidor that had belonged to Dr. Crawley. The large wooden box had an immaculate carving of the Roman god Janus on it. The double-faced heads looked in opposite directions symbolizing beginnings and endings. Davis frowned as she went about the task. The loss of Dr. Crawley had hit him especially hard, it seemed.

"Good day, Lady Mary," Davis nodded as she approached. "Mr. Matthew wanted me to clean these as soon as possible," he said quietly. "He is rather upset having such reminders still in the house. Anything to do with his father's smoking is most unwelcome."

"Of course," she concurred. She had to admire such loyalty from a servant. That Dr. Crawley's passing affected the butler so strongly was yet another comment on how beloved the man was.

"Where is Mr. Matthew?" Mary inquired.

"He is in the library," Davis replied politely.

"Thank you," Mary said with a nod and she proceeded on her way.

Mary was more at ease once inside the house. With Isobel still at work, no visitors would be coming by, and she did not need to be afraid of revealing herself to the wrong person. She saw Matthew standing by the far bookshelf along the north wall of the library. He had rolled up his shirt shelves, and there was a pencil behind his left ear. In his arms, he carried several large books, which he deposited on a nearby desk. He removed the pencil and jotted down scribbles on a notepad. Matthew frowned and his lips moved as he mumbled to himself, erasing what he had just written. Although she enjoyed watching him, Mary could see the rigid set of his shoulders and the stress of his posture. He seemed distracted and agitated, the usual meticulous and careful manner he applied to any task was missing.

He needed relief.

She approached him, his addled mood stopping him from detecting her presence. She groped his bottom, then covered his eyes playfully.

"Guess who?"

"Davis, I told you, not now. Mary could come in at any moment," Matthew chuckled. He removed her hands and turned to face her. He attempted a smile and failed miserably. He embraced her and he inhaled her scent deeply. When Mary tried to step back, Matthew held her in place. He leaned forward and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers for several moments. As she finally broke away, she fussed with his hair, stroking the floppy locks as she looked at him with concern.

"What are you doing in here?" She inquired gently.

"Well," Matthew said softly, gazing about the room. "I'm donating Papa's medical books to the hospital and the university. I also want to purchase new editions of his favourite literary classics for the library."

"Quite the project," Mary said kindly. "It looks as though you have been busy."

"Not nearly busy enough to keep myself from thinking maddening thoughts," he said in exasperation. He squeezed their joined hands before releasing her. "I'm not nearly as good as

Mother about focusing in the moment. I keep thinking backwards or forwards and neither is helping."

Matthew's hand raked through his hair just as hers had a few minutes prior. He glanced this way and that, seemingly uncertain as to what he should settle his attention on.

"Every morning when I wake up it seems like the previous day was just a bad dream. My mind plays tricks on me. Father is just at work, or out bird watching. I even tell myself that he'll be home soon before I realize how ridiculous I'm being. And the scene repeats itself the next day," he sighed.

"You're not being ridiculous at all," Mary said kindly. "Everyone deals with loss in his own way, and this is yours. It's perfectly all right."

"I'm afraid when left on my own, this is what ends up happening," Matthew said. "My mind is far less jumbled when you're lying next to me."

Mary smiled slightly.

Matthew's eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, Mary!" he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to imply that…"

"It's all right," she nodded. "I know exactly what you mean, darling."

Mary turned away from him, and went to the table to inspect the books and the list he had compiled. Her hand stilled when she saw a letter on the table. It had the emblem of the Earl of Grantham, and she frowned at the discovery.

"He wrote to me," Matthew explained, noticing she was looking at the letter. He continued to glance around the room absentmindedly. "Something about assuring me that I wasn't needed at Downton Abbey as he was still confident that James and Patrick would return soon."

"For once, I agree with him," Mary said bitterly, still focused on the letter. "Besides, your place is here."

"He did offer his condolences," Matthew said. "He wrote that reading about my father's passing reminded him of when your grandfather died. He mentioned that he felt his loss profoundly."

Mary could not help but laugh angrily.

"If he mourned my Grandpapa, it wasn't out of love," Mary said. "They were never close. If anything, Lord Grantham was probably terrified that he now had to manage on his own without someone telling him what to do at every turn."

Most of what Mary knew about her Grandpapa came from her Granny. She spoke often about his strong personality and competitive nature, and most importantly, that Mary's Papa and Cousin James would be hard pressed to follow his lead. '_Uneasy is the head the wears the crown_,' Granny would say, and not entirely in jest, Mary thought.

"Regardless of his motivations, I'll need to reply to him. He did take the time to write to me," Matthew said.

"I don't think you need to respond to him at all," she said firmly. "But do what you feel you must. I won't discuss Downton, or my father. He spoils everything."

Mary looked at Matthew's handwritten notes to distract herself from becoming upset.

_Papa's favourites: Nicholas Nickleby. Kim. Ivanhoe. Collected Poetry of Emily Dickinson._

Dr. Crawley had eclectic taste in fiction, she mused. She smiled, thinking it would be a fitting tribute to re-read these works herself in the coming months. She could convince Matthew to read them to her. It could be their small acknowledgment of what Dr. Crawley meant to them.

"Mary," Matthew said, coming up to her and caressing her cheek.

"No," she said intently, turning to face him again. "We can't discuss it. I won't."

Mary gave him a loving peck on the cheek and then picked up a magazine from a box on the table.

"_Bird Notes and News_," she said nostalgically. "Oh, how your father loved this magazine. I remember the way he would bring it to work, even though he never had time to read it. But, it sat on his desk as though he couldn't part with it," Mary paused as she recalled his simple joy over this publication. "I think it was especially significant to him since you gave him the subscription."

"I hope so," Matthew said emotionally. "Did he ever mention it comes from the Royal Society, which was founded here in Manchester? Father had been a member since its creation, before I was even born."

Mary rolled her eyes fondly. "It may have come up, oh…perhaps a dozen times. One of you seemed to mention it every time we picnicked together in the botanical gardens darling, like clockwork."

"He was always so particular about certain things," Matthew sighed. He turned away and paced around the room, running his hands nervously through his hair again. It was as though he was a top spinning about, wobbling here and there, close to teetering over.

"I've got an idea," she said, trying to catch his attention. "Since you're making lists already, why don't we make one of your father's favourite places here in Manchester? You can take me to them and tell me all about them. Even the ones I already know."

Matthew stopped pacing and looked at her gratefully. "That's brilliant, Mary, thank you," he said, his voice shaking. "I've been mulling over a number of tributes, actually. I've been thinking of buying all of the caged birds that are always being sold in the street markets in Piccadilly Gardens. Papa always did that. The first time he took me when I was a little boy…"

His voice caught in his throat.

Mary stepped towards him and came into his arms.

"Go on," she smiled.

"Well, I didn't realize that his intention was to free them all. It was utterly amazing to watch them all fly away. They soared up into the sky chasing the sun, flapping their wings. I don't know if they even knew where they were going or what they were going to do to survive on their own. It was enough that they were free in that moment."

Matthew's eyes were unfocused and he seemed to be far away. His eyes looked back at her, then he stepped away. He ran his hands over his face, then squeezed them together in front of him. He turned away and stretched his arms out at his sides, his hands clenching into fists and unclenching over and over.

"Matthew?" Mary frowned.

"I just…" he growled. "There's so much that he didn't tell me. There's so much that we didn't get a chance to talk about, even in the last days when we tried to talk day and night."

Matthew reached the sofa and dug his hands into the back of it. His shoulders tensed and he took deep breaths. He finally spun around and collapsed down on to it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands.

Mary looked at him in alarm. She turned and quickly crossed to the door, closing it so no one would see or hear him break down. She went to his side and sat down next to him, running her hand up and down his back.

"Matthew," Mary said softly. She reached over and gently lifted his head out of his hands. He turned to look at her. His eyes were dull and seemed to sag. His face seemed lifeless, as though the colour had drained from his cheeks.

"Darling, have you been sleeping at all?" she asked quietly.

"A little," he said, swallowing nervously. "It sometimes feels…wrong…to sleep."

"Oh, Matthew," she said sadly.

"I don't know what to feel, Mary," he said, looking at the floor. "I'm sad, and angry, and frustrated, and depressed, and just…numb. One moment I think I'm supposed to be strong, to be the man of the house and not show any emotion, and the next I'm crying and shaking like a child."

"Darling," Mary shook her head. She did not realize Matthew was suffering this much.

"It's all right if you have to cry yourself to sleep. I know I have," she offered.

Matthew's eyes widened in panic and he glanced at her, then glanced away.

"I haven't been crying myself to sleep," he said defensively.

"That's good," Mary smiled bravely. "Perhaps focus on that. Focus on whatever you're doing to help you through each day and it may get a little easier."

"No!" Matthew said fiercely, sitting up straight. "I…I just need to be stronger…for Mother…for you…I need to not let it affect me so."

"Matthew," Mary scolded him lightly. "You're not Atlas. You don't need to hold us all up. You need to take time for yourself. You need to deal with whatever you're feeling."

"I don't think it's wise to do that," Matthew said ruefully. He then blinked as though he did not mean to say the words out loud. He looked at Mary again, then looked away.

"Matthew?" Mary frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing!" he said immediately. "I'm just trying to get through each day, as you say."

"Matthew…" she said carefully. "What's wrong? What aren't you telling me?"

"It's nothing, Mary," he answered. "I don't want to concern you with it."

"I am concerned!" Mary said firmly. "And I want to help you. What can I do?"

"No, it's not appropriate," Matthew shook his head. "I should be honouring my father's memory, not thinking about…it's nothing."

"Matthew?" Mary said after a lengthy pause, entirely confused now. "What isn't appropriate?"

Matthew sighed and his head fell back against the sofa. "You'll think me horrible," he rolled his eyes.

"Never," Mary shook her head.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he closed his eyes. "But over the past weeks, at night, it seems all I can think about is how long it's been since we…" he opened his eyes and frowned in disgust, unable to finish.

Mary blinked in realization. "Matthew," she said slowly.

"There," Matthew spat. "Now you see what an absolute monster you've married. I can't even control my stupid urges long enough to mourn my father properly."

Mary swallowed, her mind racing.

"It has been months," she said faintly, her cheeks reddening in a fierce blush. "We've never gone this long since we've been married."

"Mary, please don't talk about it," Matthew pleaded. "I can't…"

"Shh," she said, her hand reaching over and caressing his cheek. She kissed him lightly, moving from his cheek to his neck.

"Mary!" he gasped, his arm closing around her and drawing her closer. "Please, stop!"

"It's not wrong, Matthew," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear before moving back to his neck. Her hand ran down his front, sweeping across his chest. "Let me help you. Let me help you forget."

She turned his face towards her and kissed him.

"Let me help you feel like yourself again," she said.

She eased backward on the sofa, pulling him with her. His hands shook and his weight settled on her. He grabbed at her, his mouth against her neck, then her shoulder, kissing her skin as he tugged her blouse apart and revealed more of her to him. He was frantic, his hands moving all over her and his mouth constantly seeking contact.

Mary closed her eyes as long dormant feelings flooded back. She tried to remove his clothing but he captured her arms and pushed them down to her sides, stilling her movements. He eventually rose up long enough to remove his shirt, then he was upon her once more, the heat of his bare skin against hers making her cry out as he parted her legs and lifted her skirt.

He stopped suddenly, his eyes wild, staring down at her, his lip quivering. She calmed herself enough to reach up and frame his face with her hands. She nodded slightly, then brought him down to her and kissed him. He groaned and his arms circled her back. He was inside of her and it was as though he still wasn't close enough. She hung on to him, holding his shoulders and the back of his neck. Her legs squeezed around him. Her lips found his ear and she called his name, again and again, a reassuring chant that became tangled and choked as he moved faster.

"Mary," he hissed, and she couldn't answer with words. She felt him release and her eyes shut tight and she called out as she fell apart.

She watched him.

Matthew stared intently at the notepad, his brow creased in concentration. Despite how serious he looked, Mary could only grin at his dishevelled hair and how he had done up his shirt incorrectly, missing several buttons.

"What?" he asked, not looking at her.

"You're rather a mess," she said.

"I know," he smiled conspiratorially and kissed her quickly before looking back at the notepad.

"Well, I think the list might just be complete; from the bells of Manchester City Hall to the Portico Library," he declared. He tapped his pencil on the paper and nodded to himself.

"Fletcher Moss Botanical Gardens and Albert Square," Mary read with approval. "They all sound lovely."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Matthew called out for their visitor to enter and Davis opened the door.

"Dinner is served," he said astutely with a small nod.

"Mother must be finally home," Matthew said, rising from the sofa.

"Then you had best fix your clothes," Mary smiled. "Unless you want her to suspect what we've been up to in here."

"What we've been up to is none of her business," Matthew smiled, leaning down and kissing her. "And no matter how sordid it was, it helped me, and I love you for pitying me."

"What makes you think that I gained nothing from it?" she looked at him pointedly, before looking away and blushing at the fresh memory of what they'd done, and what he'd done to her after they'd recovered their strength as well.

He took her hand and helped her up. She helped him readjust his buttons and cuffs and fixed his hair. He escorted her through to the dining room where Isobel was already seated.

As they sipped their soup, the trio was mostly silent. In the earliest days following Dr. Crawley's death, none of them felt like talking. A few days later and their conversation was stunted and forced. Now, weeks afterward, they still were not entirely back to normal – they were missing the most vocal of the family after all – but they were more at ease.

"So," Isobel finally broke the silence. "How was your afternoon?"

Matthew swallowed loudly. Mary remained composed.

"I packed up Papa's medical books as planned," he said quietly. "He has," Matthew paused at the slip of the tongue, "He had," Matthew continued, "two first editions of Henry Gray's Anatomy of the Human Body. I think I may keep one."

Isobel smiled tenderly as she reached for her glass of wine.

"Thinking of changing professions dear?" She inquired affectionately.

"Well, I have always been outnumbered," Matthew returned, "Everyone I love has been involved in the medical profession," he said as his eyes roamed between his mother and his wife. However, then his eyes fell on his father's empty chair at the head of the table. Matthew's gaze turned sad. When he continued to stare, Mary saw it as time to change the subject.

"Isobel," she said addressing her mother-in-law. "We've gathered a list of Dr. Crawley's favourite places in Manchester, we plan to visit each and reminisce. Would you care to join us?"

"Oh yes," Matthew said, his gloomy reverie interrupted. "Please do, Mother".

Isobel's eyes watered at the offering.

"Thank you," she said kindly and was silent for a moment. "I'm quite touched. Although it's a marvellous idea and Reginald would have approved, I think it best if the two of you took this on by yourselves."

"But, Mother," Matthew interrupted. However, he ceased at the look on her face.

"Matthew," Isobel said gently, "This is for you and Mary; this is your time. Although may, I make a suggestion?"

"Of course," he said earnestly.

"If it's not on your list, would you visit the Belle Vue Zoological Gardens for me? Your father took me there on our very first official date," she smiled.

"I haven't heard this story," Mary smiled.

"Neither have I, actually," Matthew noted, looking at his mother pointedly.

"Well," Isobel said coyly. "I was very young, and I wanted to see the place described as the show ground of the world. Your father was good enough to humour me and my interest in the first privately funded zoo in England."

"And I thought his first visit there was when he took me," Matthew smiled.

"I'm afraid not," Isobel said happily. "Though I think there is a wise lesson we can take from that. As you go about your tour, try and gather some souvenirs. I'm going to put together a scrapbook of sorts, combining my old memories with your father with new ones that the two of you create in the same places we visited. He'll enjoy the symmetry in that."

"That seems fitting," Mary nodded.

Matthew nodded and reached for his wine. They fell into a comfortable silence once more. Just having the three of them around the table was a painful reminder of their loss, but they were recovering day by day and memory by memory.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Albert Square, Manchester, England October 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"And so she approaches from Princess Street," Matthew said quietly as Mary joined him on the bench. "Seems appropriate."<p>

"You are quite cheery this morning," she said with a small smile.

However, before Matthew could respond, the bells from Manchester's town hall tolled the change of the hour.

"The sound of Manchester," Matthew said as the final bell echoed across the square. He folded up his newspaper and stuck it in his briefcase.

"The bell has a name, but I can never seem to remember it," Mary said as she adjusted her bonnet. It was a windy day with the first chill of autumn having arrived prematurely.

"The Great Abel," Matthew responded fondly as he stared in the direction of Manchester City Hall.

"The first stop on our tour," Mary smiled.

"The clock face has an inscription from the bible, Psalm 90:12, _Teach us to number our days_," Matthew recited the information he knew by heart. "However," he continued, "Papa preferred the other inscription also carved into the bell. He said it was more fitting for this city. Tennyson's poetic line –_'Ring out the false, ring in the true_.'"

"Is it true," Mary asked warmly. "That your father's name is on one of the stained glass skylights in the town hall?" She had heard this spoken at the hospital, and while she had no reason to doubt it, she couldn't believe he would have paid to be singled out in such a fashion.

Matthew grinned.

"Yes. You must not know the story behind it," he said.

Mary smiled as she looked across the square. She glanced at him, a subtle indication for him to continue. It was moments like this that made Matthew warm with a smug confidence in his marriage. Mary seemed to be able to speak to him without even speaking.

"Papa," Matthew started, his tone reflective. "Made the large donation before he was married and had a family." He pointed at the town hall. "When it opened in 1877, he gave the bulk of his savings towards purchasing the skylight endowment. Although he later told me he was embarrassed by the vulgarity of his ambition to have his name preserved in such a manner."

"Well," Mary said standing up. "I shall require a visit to this spectacle so that I can make my own judgment."

"Very well," Matthew said. "I am happy to oblige." He extended his arm for her to take and then realized the mistake. He pulled his arm back and they walked instead side by side, a polite distance between them.

It was only a short walk until they were inside the neo-gothic structure. Mary had never had reason to be inside this building before. Matthew explained how it was an architectural marvel, very different from other buildings in Manchester. It was unique for several reasons, but most revolved around the same design triumph, the usage of positioned windows to amplify the natural light. She couldn't help but think of Dr. Crawley as a young man as he stared at this structure, so different and yet practical. They climbed the marble stairs walking apart from each other with their hands on the opposite banisters.

"Follow me," Matthew whispered as he turned down a corridor. Mary winked as their eyes met.

They passed a series of murals that depicted the history of the city, and stopped for a moment to admire them. However, shortly afterwards they proceeded and found the window in question. Mary looked around and realized they were at last alone. She took Matthew's hand, and he affectionately squeezed hers in return. As she looked up at Dr. Crawley's skylight, it was almost a heavenly view; his name shrouded by persistent and never-ending sources of light.

_**Dr. Reginald George Crawley**_

"I don't find it vain at all," she smiled. "It's quite charming and distinguished, just like your father."

"Mmm," Matthew smiled. He tugged her towards him and she smiled as he took her into his arms.

"Matthew, we're in public," she teased, not stepping away from him.

"I'm just following orders, Mary," he smiled back. "Creating new memories, remember?"

Mary smiled at his confident tone, a voice that had been lacking from him for weeks. She took a small thrill in knowing that her idea to tour Dr. Crawley's favourite places was invigorating Matthew in some way.

They kissed lightly, and when they pulled apart, they were both beaming. They took one last look at the skylight, then separated and went back downstairs.

After leaving the town hall, they proceeded to the street bazaar contained within Piccadilly Gardens. The last of the summer flowers, as well as fruits and vegetables, were on display in the busy market. They passed the numerous stalls and stopped at the merchant selling caged birds. Despite the substantial cost, Matthew purchased every cage available from a very surprised and yet pleased vendor. Mary was somewhat overwhelmed by the vast array of animals. She smiled as Matthew identified the different species from their particular markings and colours.

Mary nervously helped him open the cages, and the sparrows, gold finches, warblers and starlings all flew away without hesitation. They flapped their wings with force and speed sailing so elegantly up into the sky. Mary smiled. It was just as magical a moment as Matthew had told her it would be.

"_Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops_," Matthew said softly, his voice soft.

"Did he say that to you?" she asked.

"Yes," Matthew answered. "It's from Emily Dickinson's poetry."

Mary nodded as she once again looked up at the sky; however, the birds were now nowhere to be found in her vision.

"Um," the vendor said as he cleared his throat. "This one won't leave."

Matthew turned towards the cage of a small emerald green cockatiel.

The bird had beautiful plumage, he noticed as he stared. However, currently it appeared to be nervously plucking its feathers. To Matthew it appeared to be afraid of the open door to its cage.

"Is there anything wrong with this bird?" He asked the vendor.

"Not a thing," the man replied, seemingly offended by the question. "He don't talk the way a cockatiel should, which makes it hard to sell. But, you bought him, so he's yours. Good day." The man swiftly went about packing up his stall.

"Come on," Matthew said gently as he stooped beside the cage. "You're free," he cajoled.

The bird continued to pluck its feathers. Matthew turned towards Mary with a sad expression on his face.

"He can't picture life outside of his cage. He never knew what it was like to be free, so he doesn't know he's supposed to leave."

He shut the latch to the cage, and the bird ceased its plucking.

"Let's visit the other places on our list some other time," Matthew declared. "I want to take our newest family member home. I just hope that Mother won't be too cross with me for buying him."

Mary could only smile at her husband's gentle heart. She walked a comfortable distance beside him as they crossed the square and went to hail a taxi to take all three of them back home.


	12. Chapter 12

**Law Firm of Sellers and Reid, Manchester, England, November 1912**

* * *

><p>"Matthew, thank you for coming," the older gentleman said, shaking Matthew's hand firmly.<p>

"Mr. Reid," Matthew nodded briefly, then went and took a seat. Harold Reid had been the Crawley family solicitor since before Matthew was born. Even after Matthew had graduated from law school, even after he made partner at his law firm, his parents continued to keep all of their affairs with Sellers and Reid. Partly it was out of loyalty, but Matthew suspected it was also to keep him distanced from family matters. His parents wanted him to focus on his career and his life, and did not want him spending time on personal matters at work.

Now, sitting in the boardroom and clasping his hands together as he waited for the meeting to begin, Matthew was grateful that he wasn't his father's lawyer. He knew very little about the day's proceedings, and he was glad for it. It was a rare occasion where he simply wanted to be told what was happening and what to do, rather than have to think about it himself.

"Right, well, now that we are all here, we can proceed with the business at hand. You all know Matthew Crawley of course, Dr. Crawley's son," Reid said, motioning to Matthew with his hand. He was always direct and straightforward, and Matthew appreciated his professional manner in this moment.

Matthew looked around the room and nodded briefly to the assembled guests. Lord Merton gave him a short glance and turned his attention back to Reid. A tall, thin woman smiled politely at him. An older man waved at him kindly.

"Dr. Crawley's last Will and Testament was updated last year. Reginald was rather meticulous about reviewing these things each year to make sure they accurately reflected his wishes. As sad as this occasion is, I am comforted in knowing that what we are about to do today is what he would have wanted."

Matthew looked down at his lap, his fingers fidgeting. God, he needed Mary. He felt as though he could not stop shaking. He wanted her to come with him, especially since his mother had quietly refused to attend herself. But they both knew that Lord Merton would be at the meeting as a representative of the hospital, and there was no explanation they could invent to explain why she would be at the meeting as well.

"The majority of Dr. Crawley's possessions, including his home and most of his personal effects were naturally left to his wife, Isobel Crawley. I won't bother to read out the list of items. I trust that no one here has any real interest in knowing about them. Matthew, please take the list with you, but I am confident that everything is in your parents' house. There's also this letter. He wrote one each year and replaced it when he came to see me. This is the most recent one."

Matthew nodded mindlessly and took the offered papers. His father's handwriting was scrawled across the envelope. He smiled sadly as he weighed the letter in his hands. How did one go about writing a letter to your wife to read after you were gone? How to summarize thoughts on a whole life in a few pages? His father would be to the point, of course, with perhaps some wry jokes thrown in. What was there really left to say that Dr. Crawley hadn't said to Isobel by now? But it wasn't so much something missing, Matthew expected. It was something to hold on to, last words for his loved ones to keep, a part of him to treasure even after his death.

Matthew sighed. Even the knowledge that Dr. Crawley had remembered a gesture such as this so far in advance should comfort him, but it did not. He wondered if he would leave a letter for Mary with his executor to give to her upon his death. It was a terribly morbid thought. And would it be so easy for him to leave everything he owned to his wife? For, if he ever inherited Downton Abbey, would the entail prevent him from dealing with his own affairs as he wished? Would he even have the power to provide for Mary? For their children? Would his will be as straight forward as his father's? Matthew looked down at his father's handwriting again. Perhaps this was another reason why Dr. Crawley was almost morbidly amused that he would not need to take up the mantle of heir to Lord Grantham. Here in Manchester, he could live his life on his terms and no one else's.

Mr. Reid cleared his throat and Matthew's attention was drawn back to him.

"To the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, a gift of 1,500 pounds, to be used to the education of the public to the plight of birds in Manchester, and to the preservation of greenspace in Moss Botanical Park and surrounding areas."

The tall, thin woman took the offered envelope gratefully and bowed to Reid and to Matthew. She was escorted by a staff member out the door. Everyone left turned back to Reid and he continued on.

"To my alma mater, Owens College, now known as the Victoria University of Manchester, a gift of 3,000 pounds to establish a scholarship and grant to be given to deserving students in financial need to fund their medical studies," Reid announced.

The older man smiled and looked up at the ceiling. He rose and slowly made his way to the front of the room. He took the envelope from Reid and turned and shook Matthew's hand gratefully. He was escorted out of the room, starting to blub as he went.

Matthew smiled briefly. This was so like his father – providing for those that he felt needed his help without even being asked.

Lord Merton quirked his eyebrows in bored annoyance and turned back to look at the Crawley family solicitor.

"To the Royal Infirmary of Manchester, a gift of 7,500 pounds to be invested as part of the hospital's endowment fund and used specifically towards the purchase of new medical equipment, particularly for the updating and modernizing of the surgical suites as necessary," Reid said, glancing up at Lord Merton.

Lord Merton frowned slightly, then came forward and took the envelope from Reid. Rather than leave, he sat back down. Reid looked at him curiously for a brief moment, then returned to the Will.

"To my only child, Matthew Reginald Crawley, I leave the balance of my Estate, including all assets, monies, funds, investments, and the proceeds thereof that have not been specifically granted and gifted to my wife, Isobel Crawley, should she still be alive at the time of my death. In particular, I transfer my half interest in my second home, the property located in Manchester which, until my death, was owned jointly with my son, Matthew Reginald Crawley, such that the home and lands thereon are entirely owned by him from the date of my death forthwith. Further, I leave a fund of 15,000 pounds, currently invested with The First National Bank of Manchester, to my son, Matthew Reginald Crawley, to hold in trust for any woman who shall be his wife during his lifetime."

Matthew smiled sadly. Of course his father would make provision for Mary. He bit his lip forcing himself to neither smile nor sob at this unexpected development.

"The fund will remain at First National, Matthew," Reid said quietly. "The day that you do marry, we'll make arrangements for the transfer. For now it will accumulate interest until you decide to take a wife."

Matthew only nodded briefly, afraid to say anything further in Lord Merton's presence.

Lord Merton gasped audibly, his face a mixture of shock and confusion. He rose slowly from his chair, his fingers clutching his walking stick fiercely.

"Is that all of the assets dealt with, then, Mr. Reid?" he asked carefully.

"Yes, Lord Merton. That is all. Did you have any questions?" Reid asked with narrow eyes.

"No," Lord Merton shook his head quickly. "Not at all."

Matthew said goodbye to Reid and made his way for the door. As he walked out into the hall, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Matthew," Lord Merton said pleasantly. "Good to see you again. I hope that we see more of you around the hospital in the future. We have a number of events – fundraisers and meetings with donors and such. Your father was very active in supporting the hospital, and I hope you will consider taking up the same cause."

"I'll consider it," Matthew said curtly, trying not to snarl at the man who he would never forgive for his treatment of Mary.

"That's all we can ask for," Lord Merton replied, clearly annoyed by Matthew's lack of enthusiasm. "I must also ask, did you receive Lord Grantham's letter? The Earl wanted me to reach out to you. You are a part of his family, of course."

"I did," Matthew replied. "I appreciate the Earl's condolences. Good day, Lord Merton."

Matthew briskly left the building and walked down the pavement, leaving Lord Merton standing by his waiting motor, frowning at his departing figure.

"Insolent middle class whelp," Lord Merton grumbled under his breath as his chauffeur opened the door to the car for him. "God willing, James and Patrick will return soon and he will never inherit Downton."

* * *

><p><strong>Home of Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, November 1912<strong>

* * *

><p>"Good evening sir," Davis said as he greeted Matthew. He took his soaking wet umbrella and briefcase out of his hands. The usual winter torrents seemed particularly nasty this day.<p>

"That it most certainly is not," Matthew mumbled as he shivered. "But, thank you, Davis. The same to you."

Matthew removed his Macintosh anxiously, and hung the raincoat on the first rung of the coat rack; following suit with his hat and scarf. It was often a contest between him and Davis as to who would reach the coat rack first. The butler always grumbled that Matthew should not be hanging his own coat, especially as he was now the head of the family. Matthew always replied that he was his own man and did not need to be coddled, especially now that he was the head of the family.

Matthew sat down on the hall bench and removed his sopping wet boots. He reached for a pair of his dry Oxfords, only to smile wryly as Davis already had them in his outstretched hand.

"Touché, Davis," Matthew frowned dryly, putting on the shoes and rising from the bench.

To say that he was grateful to return home was an understatement. Although he had always appreciated his work, since his father's death, he was constantly distracted. The partners at the firm seemed to have formed a silent vow that he not be bothered with any complicated cases or matters for the time being. And so Matthew had to sit idly by and watch as matters that ought to have been given to him were parsed out to junior associates. He had moped about it for several days, then redirected his energies into a new research project that had quickly filled his time both at the office and at home.

"Would you like your post now?" Davis inquired gesturing to the tray of mail.

Matthew sighed and ran his hand through his damp hair.

"That depends," he nodded. "Is there anything interesting?"

"Several invitations it would seem from names that I recognize, Lord Merton being among them," Davis stated. "I expect it's a dinner of some sort."

"It can all wait then," Matthew said bitterly.

He seemed to be far more popular since his father's passing. He had anticipated that he would be recruited for some of the causes and events that his father used to deal with, but he seemed to receive interest from members of Manchester Society that his parents previously did not know about. It was quite perplexing to him, though Mary was nonplussed by his growing reputation.

"Though technically you're not the heir, and never will be, you're still part of the Grantham line," Mary had told him patiently. "It's far better for Lord Merton and his ilk to get their hooks in you early. That way, they hope to control you if you ever do actually inherit, and if you never do, then there's no harm done."

Matthew had rolled his eyes at this revelation. It was difficult to understand the motivations and behaviour of an entire class of people when their conduct involved neither logic nor rationale.

"Your mother and Lady Mary are in the library," Davis announced, interrupting his thoughts. "Dinner will be served promptly now that you have arrived home, sir."

Matthew smiled.

"Mary is here?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, sir," Davis nodded, trying to contain his amusement. Nothing seemed to reduce Mr. Matthew to an adolescent like mention of Lady Mary.

"She arrived about a quarter of an hour ago, sir. It seems that Lady Philomena has left for London earlier than planned."

Matthew nodded, attempting to remain composed. He did not expect Lady Philomena to go to London for Winter Season for another week or so. This was quite a surprise. Suddenly, Matthew did not particularly want to be at home as the idea of Mary's empty house filled his mind.

"Thank you, Davis," Matthew nodded, turning for the library.

Matthew blinked in surprise as he neared the library and heard the unexpected sound of whistling. When he came through the large archway, his mother stood next to the bird cage of the cockatiel he and Mary had brought home. She whistled gently, then smiled as the bird mimicked her sounds back in its own voice. Although the emerald green little creature still did not talk, Matthew could see it was eager to interact. Despite her earlier apprehension about keeping such a pet, Isobel took to nurturing the bird, just as Matthew knew that she would. The challenge of restoring this bird from whatever affected it was a welcome distraction for her.

"Matthew," Mary smiled as she looked up at him entering the room. She stood and walked towards him accepting his kiss on the cheek. Mary held his hand as they proceeded towards his mother.

"How was your day dear?" Isobel asked, her eyes still on the bird.

"Nothing worth mentioning, as nothing happened," he shrugged. "You seem to have developed a rapport with the bird," he teased his mother.

Isobel stepped away from the bird cage with a smile. "I think I'm going to call him the Great Abel," she said as they all took seats nearby on the sofa and settee.

Matthew laughed. "After the bell in City Hall?"

"I like it," Mary said. "We did rescue him in the market nearby."

"Well, I see no objection, although he may only respond to 'Abel'" Matthew smiled as he stared at the green cockatiel. "Papa, would like that name, I think."

Isobel nodded wistfully. "He always wanted a bird in the house, but I kept saying no. I'm almost convinced he placed this particular bird in your path that day so that I would now get my comeuppance."

The trio shared a tender laugh at this irony just as the dinner gong struck. Matthew gestured for the ladies to go first as they proceeded into the dinning room.

"After dinner," Isobel said as they walked. "I have a project for all of us," she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"A project?" Matthew looked at Mary for assistance. "Do you know about this?"

"Naturally," Mary said coyly. "We've been plotting against you for ages."

Matthew could only roll his eyes as he followed them through.

"I thought I was the head of the household," he mumbled, glancing up at the ceiling ruefully.

* * *

><p>They went through to the parlour after dinner. Matthew was about to pour himself a brandy when he and Mary noticed a peculiar trunk placed noticeably in the middle of the room. They gathered around it and Isobel smiled mysteriously, watching their reactions.<p>

"Mother," he said gently. "Is this Pandora's box?" he teased.

"Be serious, Matthew," Mary scolded him lightly. "This is important."

"Your father and I always meant to make a scrapbook together," Isobel said as her hand lightly touched the trunk. "A collection of memories of our life together. We started it after our marriage and for awhile it was what we did every Sunday afternoon."

Mary reached out and squeezed Matthew's hand as Isobel looked at the trunk fondly. They were reminded of Dr. Crawley almost every day in some form or another. Sometimes, Matthew would smile and gladly recall memories. Other times, he would scowl and lash out, the reminder of his father only a bitter signal that he was no longer with them. Mary's instinct was to bury her feelings, particularly grief and sorrow. They were signs of weakness, she was taught, and she was more likely to roll her eyes at the mention of the departed than she was to smile nostalgically or cry. As with many things, she had changed in this respect after her arrival in Manchester. She knew it was important for Matthew to remember, to face his grief rather than try to avoid it. He was coming around slowly, and it was a good sign that he hadn't stomped out of the room at the mention of the family scrapbook.

"Strange that this is the first I'm hearing about this," Matthew said, his voice calm but somewhat detached.

"Well, although we kept collecting mementos throughout the years, after you arrived, living life was more important than simply documenting it," Isobel smiled.

Matthew sighed audibly. Mary patted his shoulder. He turned towards her and nodded.

"Would you like to show us what you and Papa put together, Mother?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, and I want us to finish it together. I think he would have wanted that, for our project to be something to share with our child, and his wife," Isobel nodded.

Isobel took the key, still dangling from a chain tied to the trunk, and opened the lid. She lifted it slowly, smiling to herself as though she were far away. They all peered inside at the piles of photos, papers, souvenirs and other objects.

"If there are baby pictures of Matthew in there, I will need to see them at once," Mary said firmly.

"What have I agreed to?" Matthew shook his head.

"Reggie and I kept almost everything," Isobel said wistfully. "So, yes the Matthew relics are bountiful!"

Matthew and Mary smiled as Isobel arranged several bundles on the table before them. The trunk even had jars of paste and colourful pages waiting to be filled.

"We tended to collect different items and bundled them together, to later go through and arrange into the scrapbook," Isobel explained. "I know it seems juvenile and childish, but most things appear that way with the passage of time."

"Not at all," Mary declared. "I think it's brilliant."

Matthew smiled at her in thanks. Mary was one of the most practical people he had ever met. He knew she wasn't one to dwell in the past or place too much weight on history, particularly given that hers was filled with rather painful moments. Truthfully, Matthew thought the idea of a scrapbook was rather outdated. He enjoyed photographs and even the idea of keeping a journal or diary to document important events, but to assemble an entire trunk of keepsakes was rather beyond him.

They went about their task for another hour, listening to Isobel explain what each small memento signified. There were pressed flowers, seashells, watercolour sketches that Dr. Crawley had done on vacation, calling cards and tickets from football matches, menus from restaurants and countless handwritten notes on calendar pages, napkins and notepads. At first glace they were a pile of random objects. But as they were organized on the scrapbook pages, they painted a lovely portrait of different times in the life of Matthew's parents, all moments that Matthew had never heard of before.

Isobel turned back to the beginning of the scrapbook and flipped through the pages slowly, her voice quiet as she mentioned small details here and there. She blushed at the love notes and holiday cards between them that detailed the chronology of their courtship. Matthew smiled as he saw how seamlessly the pages he and Mary had just completed fit in with everything else.

Isobel paused and swallowed with difficulty as they came to a series of empty pages. Isobel looked at the pages as though she were seeing something that wasn't there.

"Mother?" Matthew asked as she remained silent. He looked at Mary who then looked at her mother-in-law.

"Are there other keepsakes that we can put on these pages?" Mary asked softly.

"No," Isobel finally spoke. "These pages are empty as they covered the years we were trying to start a family. We didn't take any trips during this time, and many of the things we found memorable before no longer seemed as…special. When Matthew was born, Reginald kept everything – the card with his name and weight from the day he was born, report cards from school, crafts he brought home to me as a child, even notes he left us telling us he'd gone out and would be home later. That's all in the trunk as well. He tended to take some of it with him to the office. They were in his desk, on his bookshelf, even carried things such as a pair of Matthew's socks when he was an infant around in his coat. He always needed to have a piece of his son with him at all times."

"That sounds like him," Mary said.

Isobel gently closed the scrapbook and placed it in the trunk. She rose from the sofa and wiped her eyes quickly.

"Well, it's quite late. I am impressed with how much we covered tonight. Now that you both know the process, we can add a little bit whenever the mood strikes. There's bits of your time together that can fill pages and pages, I'm sure," Isobel said. "That's all for me. I'm off to bed."

"But it's still early, Mother," Matthew said, rising from the sofa and looking at his mother with concern.

"I'm having brunch tomorrow with friends, so I'll retire early," Isobel smiled to him reassuringly. "Good night."

"Good night, Mother," Matthew said, standing and nodding to her.

"Good night, Isobel," Mary said kindly.

They watched her leave the parlour. Matthew's face was still frowning with concern.

"Each of us handles what we feel in our own way, darling," Mary said quietly. "I'm sure that your mother enjoyed the scrapbook tonight, but it probably became too much for her."

"Right, of course," Matthew nodded, his expression softening. "Well, shall we find a book that I can read to you?"

"That would be lovely," Mary smiled. She took his arm and he escorted her to the library.

Kissing her hand as they entered the library, Matthew went about perusing the shelves while Mary went over to the sofa. Before she sat down, she was drawn to a stack of books and papers arranged on the table.

"You know, I think I'm in the mood for Shakespeare, tonight, for some inexplicable reason," Matthew mused, looking at several of the Bard's plays.

"Matthew?" Mary frowned. "What is all this?"

"What is all what, darling?" Matthew asked, turning towards her. His eyes widened as he realized what she had discovered and he crossed the room to her quickly.

"It's just some things for work that I brought home the other day," he said, moving to close an open book on the table.

"Why are you researching wills and estates at home?" Mary asked, her eyes narrowing. "You've never had cause to bring cases home before."

"I'm dealing with a rather complicated matter," Matthew said nervously, arranging the books and papers on the table and pushing them away. "You know how I can get when something is on my mind. It haunts me day and night sometimes."

"Matthew Reginald Crawley," Mary said slowly, her voice hardening. "To pull off a ruse, one must be a good liar. Are you a good liar?"

"Not good enough to try it, apparently," Matthew swallowed, raising his hands in front of him.

"You're investigating the entail, aren't you?" Mary accused him, her hands balling into fists. "Matthew, we settled this already."

"I know your feelings on the subject, yes, but darling it's been months and your cousins have not been found," Matthew said carefully.

"Don't you 'darling' me," Mary scowled. "I've told you in no uncertain terms that you are _not_ going to Downton and that is final. Lord Grantham can find himself another heir for all I care."

"There is no one else, Mary!" Matthew retorted. "It's me! I'm the heir! I don't like the idea any more than you do, but if I am summoned, I need to know what I'm up against."

"You haven't even seen the entail or the contract that Grandpapa had Mama sign!" Mary shouted. "What makes you think anything will change? You surely aren't the first to have looked at this, Matthew!"

"Regardless of what those documents say, there are laws that govern what can and cannot be done, Mary," Matthew said tightly. "Any instrument can be defeated, so long as one knows how to attack it. That's what all this is about. I'm trying to understand how to revoke an entail."

"An entail that has existed for generations will suddenly crumble and fall before the might of Matthew Crawley!" Mary laughed bitterly. "And then what? We'll live happily ever after, will we, sitting around the dinner table trading loving and tender words with my parents? Oh, Matthew, everything with you is so black and white!"

"I think this is black and white!" Matthew fired back, his temper quickly rising. "I love you and I want to give you back what was taken from you. I'm trying to find a way to give you what you want!"

"If you think that going back to Downton is what I want, then you don't know me at all!" Mary cried, her eyes moistening. "I told you to forget about this, Matthew. I told you we weren't going anywhere. I already decided that I want nothing to do with my past life. Don't you see what this means? If you can't respect my decision then you're not on my side!"

"I am on your side!" Matthew roared. "Mary, it's my decision as to what will be done about this. I'm the heir. You can't just run away and hide here in Manchester and think that your family will leave us alone!"

The moment he uttered the words, he knew he had taken a step too far.

"It's _your _decision?" Mary said furiously.

"Mary, please," he begged, reaching out his hand.

She swatted his arm away and stormed from the room.

It took Matthew several minutes to gather himself before he went after Mary. That was enough time for her to disappear. They both needed some time to recover, he thought. Trying to speak to her again so quickly would likely make things worse.

Knowing that she was somewhere in the house, Matthew waited in the foyer. The back door was locked for the night by Mrs. Bird, so the only exit from the house was through the front, Matthew reasoned. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. Minutes passed and the only sound in the house was the ticking of the large clock. The servants had all retired, leaving just the two of them left awake.

He rolled his eyes and looked upwards ruefully. Panic began to set in as time went on. Even Mary would not be so bold as to try walking home alone at night, he was fairly certain, but how long would she refuse to see him? Days? Weeks? She was all alone in Lady Philomena's home. She didn't need him for anything in particular and did not need to seek refuge at his home either. The idea of spending Christmas without Mary made his throat dry.

"Are you guarding the door to prevent my escape?" she asked quietly.

Matthew looked up as Mary came into the foyer. Her red tinged eyes and tired expression indicated she'd been crying.

"I was just waiting to walk you home," Matthew said softly. "If you would permit it, that is."

Mary regarded him for a long moment, the silence between them making his legs feel rubbery.

"I was going to surprise you later by revealing that I brought a valise with me tonight," Mary said, her voice still cold.

Matthew's eyes widened. He swallowed, his mind racing through what to say next.

"You know you're welcome to stay here," he stammered. "That is, if you still want to, of course."

"What is your decision on the subject, husband?" Mary said, her lips pursed tightly. "You are giving the orders, aren't you?"

Matthew's anger flared at her jab. He was in no mood for another argument, but she always knew just how to get a rise out of him.

"I would like you to stay, very much," he said with great effort, watching her face for any sign of acceptance and finding none. "You can sleep in my bedroom and I'll sleep down here, if that would make you more comfortable."

"And what will you say to the servants and to your mother when you're discovered alone on the sofa in the morning?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow.

"That it was better that we slept in separate rooms," Matthew said, unable to hide the despair in his voice.

"Then you would be lying," Mary said, looking down at the floor. "And we know you aren't any good at doing that."

Matthew blinked in surprise.

"Pardon?"

She looked up at him, her gaze still fierce.

"I'm still incensed with you," she stated. "And I expect this argument will not be resolved very easily or very quickly. But, to say that I do not want to share a bed with my husband, when the opportunity to do so is rather rare for us at the best of times, well, that would only make this entire evening worse."

Matthew took a step towards her.

"I don't want to make you angry," he said.

"You're too late for that," she replied, although her lip curled slightly as he drew near.

"And I don't want to go without you, particularly with Christmas approaching and Lady Philomena already in London."

"Why don't you try and make it through tonight, and we'll see what December brings," Mary said, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Very well," he said.

"Shall we retire, then?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Yes, darling," Matthew said, looking at her intently.

Mary held his gaze for a moment, her chin raised, she then turned and headed towards the stairs. They went up together in silence, reaching his bedroom. She stopped and he opened the door, waiting on the threshold for her to make the next move. She stepped forward and went in. He followed behind her and closed the door.

Seeing her in his bedroom as a small victory, Matthew walked past her towards his dressing room.

"Matthew," Mary called to him.

"Yes?" Matthew asked, turning back to her.

"Where exactly are you going?" she asked.

"To go change for bed," Matthew answered. "I thought you would ring for Beth to assist you."

"I already told her I wouldn't need her this evening, actually," Mary said, stepping towards him.

"Oh? But, how will you get out of your dress and corset without help?" Matthew asked.

"I think I have ample help available to me already," Mary said, giving him just a hint of a smile.

Realization dawned on him as Mary reached him and leaned across to whisper in his ear.

_"Take off my clothes, Matthew. Now._"

His hands moved up her sides shakily. He groaned as he felt her lips on his neck. Her hands moved inside his jacket and up to his shoulders, quickly forcing the garment off of him.

Matthew's hands were not nearly as deft as usual as he reached around and undid the numerous ties of her dress. He kissed her neck and shoulder as he went, waiting for her to push him away or deter him in some fashion. Instead, she ran her hands up his back, and he continued to savour the taste of her skin, her small moans and the feel of her against him emboldening him.

Once her gown floated to the floor, he held her face in his hands and kissed her soundly. She returned his fervour, jabbing her tongue into his mouth as her hands moved between them to wrestle with his vest and his shirt.

He helped her, his arms flailing as he threw off his shirt, his cufflinks flying across the room. They moved urgently towards the bed, more items of clothing ripped off as they went. His suspenders. Her corset. His trousers. Her stockings.

Mary snarled and pushed him down to the bed, following on top of him and pressing herself against his chest. Their lips found each other easily, hunger and need flaring within them.

"We're much better at putting our frustrations to more enjoyable pursuits, don't you think?" Mary said huskily as she nipped at his throat.

"Most definitely," Matthew gasped, his hands slipped beneath her knickers and fondled her bottom. She hummed in pleasure as he squeezed her firmly.

"Why don't we focus on creating our own memories? We have so many of them already," Mary drawled, licking his neck and ear.

"We do," Matthew breathed, his hips pushing against her as she reached between them and grasped his length.

"Would you like to hear what I remember most vividly, Matthew?" she whispered lightly into his ear.

Matthew could only grunt in reply, her hand unrelenting.

"I remember our first kiss," Mary said, her lips caressing his face once more.

"I remember when you proposed to me," she continued, moving her lips to his neck and then to his chest.

"I remember our wedding night, when you made me yours," she smiled as his ragged breathing only spurred her on.

"I remember all of the things you taught me, Matthew," she growled, smiling as she felt his hands pull at the ties of her knickers urgently. She writhed against him and kissed her way back up to his neck.

"I remember when you took me in the middle of the day at the hospital for the first time," she teased, running her tongue along his jaw. "And all of our secret liaisons that followed."

Matthew's restraint broke. He took hold of her hips and turned them over quickly. Mary smiled and clutched at his shoulders. Her knickers were pushed down her legs and kicked free of the bed, and she let out a long breath at the feel of him over her.

"Do you remember this, Mary?" Matthew hissed, groaning as he filled her, his lips seeking hers, desperate for as much contact between them as possible.

"Yes," Mary gasped, her hands pulling him closer, her body opening up to his and wordlessly urging him to increase his pace.

They were frantic. They were desperate for each other. They moved together perfectly, a rhythm so familiar to them now, and yet different. They dueled with their bodies, each one challenging the other and replying in kind.

"Mary," Matthew called out, kissing her lips, her cheek, her neck, any part of her soft skin he could reach as he pushed both of them over the edge.

Mary squealed as she broke apart, biting into his shoulder to stifle her cries. He held her close to him, their heated bodies pressed together as they rode out the waves crashing inside of them.

"Mmm," she sighed in bliss as he moved her gently on to her side, curling her into the warmth of him, holding her close, his arms and legs fitting with hers as he pulled the blankets over them. He pushed her hair from her face and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, Mary," Matthew whispered, his eyes closing in exhausted contentment. "I'm so glad you're here."

"We have all month together, darling. Day and night," Mary nodded, her tired limbs feeling delightfully heavy. "And I intend to create many more memories for us, so long as you don't set my teeth on edge."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, December 1911**_

* * *

><p>Matthew walked down the hall slowly, checking to make sure the bundle in his hands had not been damaged by the chill and snow of winter. He knew instinctively the route to his father's office, and so he checked the wrapping paper as he went.<p>

Convinced all was as it should be, he smiled to himself as he finally looked up and quickened his pace. Some fathers taught their sons how to play football or cricket. Others had their boys learn to be tough and stoic. Most would endow their sons with hard lessons on the ways of the world and maybe even the first guides of a moral compass. Mothers gave their children emotion and feeling. Fathers were supposed to focus on more practical aspects. And so it was for Matthew. He was grateful that his father had taught him one particular fact of life among many other lessons – the satisfaction derived from helping others.

Matthew stopped at the doorway of the office. Dr. Crawley was attacking his daily stack of paperwork with particular urgency. He'd missed several days of work recently due to illness, a rare thing for him and he was obviously determined to catch up as soon as possible. Dr. Crawley had a penchant for working through the Christmas holidays, but this year was different and he and Matthew both knew he would be spending less time in the office.

Everything was merry and especially bright this year. Soon it would be Mary's birthday, and they had chosen late December for their wedding as well. There were still details to be worked out, but Matthew wasn't concerned. 'Tell me where to go and when, and I'll be there early' he had teased her numerous times.

Married. He would make Mary his wife ten months after first meeting her. Truthfully it seemed they had been together for much longer. She knew him better than almost anyone else, and he still marvelled that he had convinced her to accept him, to ignore all that was swirling around her and her past and to step forward with him into their future.

Ten months. She had assured him that her kind of people usually did not even take that long. She had former friends who debuted with her during her Season who met their suitors in June and were married by October. 'Once the contract is signed and the dress made, everything else falls into place' she laughed, though he knew a part of her was bitter over the reality that their wedding would not be in a grand church surrounded by friends and family. Truthfully, Matthew was a bit shocked as well. He always thought his wedding would be at Manchester Cathedral, and not in the city clerk's office, but now with the nuptials a matter of days away, the venue was strangely irrelevant to him.

"Matthew," his father called to him, breaking his reverie. "Come into my office with your musings. You had best shut the door so no one can see your curious expression."

Nodding sheepishly, Matthew came in and closed the door behind him. It was remarkable how thoughts of Mary could cause him to ignore everything around him. Hefting the package under his arm, he placed it on his father's desk and eagerly awaited Dr. Crawley's reaction.

"For you, Papa," Matthew said, sweeping his open hand over the gift.

"Christmas is a few weeks away yet, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said carefully, eyeing the rectangular box. A smile crept across his lips. He pulled back the wrapping paper and grinned. Matthew smiled as well, immensely pleased that his plan had made his father happy.

"_Ivanhoe_," Dr. Crawley smiled.

"I had your first edition re-bound," Matthew said, taking a seat. "I hope Grandpapa won't mind."

"He'll probably appear to me in my sleep and say what a thoughtful present this is," Dr. Crawley said wistfully. "Then he'd probably scold me for never thinking of a similar gift for him while he was alive. Thank you, son," he said.

Matthew nodded. "This isn't your actual Christmas present, mind. I just noticed the spine was cracked and the cover was almost falling off. Probably because you read it to me so many times."

"A practice that I expect you to continue with your children," Dr. Crawley said.

"You can read them the story yourself," Matthew said easily. "They'll crawl into your lap and beg Grandpapa to tell them a tale."

Strangely, Dr. Crawley removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, but that was typical for his father, a consequence of working late, Matthew assumed.

"Now that you're here, you can help me. Take a look over this list," his father said as he passed him a paper across the desk. "Have I missed anyone?"

Matthew took it and read through the long list of names. Each doctor, nurse and volunteer was on this list and would be receiving some sort of Christmas present. They were not mere employees to Dr. Crawley. Their morale directly impacted the quality of care for his patients. If they felt he cared about them, then they would in turn care about what they were doing, or so he hoped. Matthew was familiar with most of the people that his parents worked with on a regular basis. They'd all seen him grow up over the years. Hardly anyone left the employ of the hospital, particularly his parents' department. Matthew did not see anyone missing from the list, though he did notice one particular addition.

_Lady Mary Crawley _

"You've included Mary," Matthew smiled. "Though you haven't listed a gift beside her name as you've done with all the others."

"Well, I thought I would consult her husband before making a purchase," Dr. Crawley teased.

"We're not married yet," Matthew replied, though his pride was evident at the mere mention of the coming event.

"Yes, yes, you're waiting until her 21st birthday next week. It's no matter. You've been married to her in a sense for months now," Dr. Crawley answered. "All that's left is to make it official."

"I'm almost afraid to ask in what 'sense' you mean," Matthew said pointedly. "You raised me to be a gentleman, Papa, and I have been where Mary is concerned."

"If your mother was here, she'd smack both of us just for talking about this subject," Dr. Crawley chuckled. "I was referring to how obviously committed you both are to each other, nothing more. There's no need to be vulgar, Matthew."

Matthew laughed and handed the list back.

"So," Dr. Crawley continued. "What can I get for Mary?"

"Something simple," Matthew said. "She'll be embarrassed if you make a production out of it. To say nothing for the fact that you'll make me look badly if you eclipse what I'm getting for her."

"You are giving her what I hope will be a lifetime of happiness. I doubt I could purchase anything to rival that," Dr. Crawley smiled.

Matthew laughed. "I'm surprised that you're even asking. It's not like you to spend money, even at Christmas. I thought you'd recommend a poetry book to her or something similar."

"I'm feeling reckless these days," Dr. Crawley said. "There's no need to hang on to every penny. It isn't as though you can take it with you when you go."

Matthew frowned in confusion at the statement.

"Besides, Mary will be my daughter soon," Dr. Crawley continued lightly. "I think that jewellery is appropriate. You can explain that it's a Christmas gift, birthday present and wedding present in one."

"Just don't go overboard," Matthew implored. "No diamonds or rubies or emeralds. Her birthstone is turquoise, and that's normal enough. It represents joy, love and luck. Perhaps something with a small turquoise gem and that's it."

Dr. Crawley nodded. "Turquoise has always been beautiful. When I was a young man, it first became popular, thanks to Prince Albert. That gemstone suits Mary very well. Fine. Leave it with me. Now, remind me once more when we are to be at City Hall and how long we can expect you to be away afterwards."

Matthew took out a small notepad from his inner pocket. He caught his father looking at him curiously as he flipped the pages.

"Mary is in charge of the planning, obviously," Matthew said wryly. "I need to write everything down. She has it all committed to memory."

"She's quite smart, your fiancée," Dr. Crawley said. "Probably more clever than even you."

"There's no 'probably' about it; she is," Matthew nodded. "And dare I say she has better manners and better breeding as well. I should hope to get this wedding over with quickly before she comes to her senses."

"Have no fear, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Mary strikes me as one who would speak her mind if she had any objection to you. She's not one to be silenced."

"No," Matthew laughed. "No, she certainly is not."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, September 1909<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary walked briskly towards the library, rather pleased that Carson had told her that her Papa, Cousin James and Cousin Patrick needed her input on an important matter. Her input. Yes, that made perfect sense. She was well versed in many subjects, and perfectly capable of contributing wisely to any debate. Though she had not yet had her debut, it was coming next summer, and this was another example of her coming ascension into adulthood. She wasn't a child anymore, she was a young lady who could contribute to her family.<p>

"Welcome back, Papa," she said politely as she saw her father and cousins gathered around a large table.

"Mary," Lord Grantham said fondly. "Come here and see if you can't settle a matter for us."

She approached the table and noticed a map of the grounds spread out across it. She smiled. Downton Abbey was more than just a pile of bricks. It included vast surrounding fields and farms, forests and ponds. And it would all be hers one day when she became Countess of Grantham.

She felt the men looking at her. Her Papa's expression was neutral. Cousin James seemed bored. Cousin Patrick did not seem to be looking at her eyes and Mary stiffened slightly.

"Ask her," Patrick smiled at his father. "She'll know."

"Mary, do you know what this line is here?" James asked, pointing at the map.

Mary looked it over, getting her bearings by noticing landmarks set out near to where Cousin James had placed his finger.

"It's a fence line near the south border of the Hollingsworth property," Mary said easily. "It was rebuilt two years ago after a thunderstorm set fire to the barn. The Hollingsworths use that piece of land for…"

"As I suspected," James said triumphantly, interrupting Mary and glaring at Robert. "The devils extended their fence beyond the proper border of the farm. They're encroaching on our land, Cousin, and you allowed this to happen."

"It's all of our land regardless," Robert sighed. "I don't recall the fence being rebuilt, but even if it was as Mary says, what does it matter?"

"What matters, Cousin, is that everyone understand their role – farmers, tenants, villagers and even you," Cousin James sneered. "I want that fence torn down and Mr. Hollingsworth can build another one on the proper line. Or, I'll have workers tear it down myself and add the cost to the man's rent."

Robert frowned.

"Very well done, Patrick," Cousin James smiled, turning away from Mary and Robert and looking at his son. "She will make a fine wife for you. Remember to use her knowledge to your advantage, just so long as everyone understands that the final decision is yours to make."

Mary felt annoyance crease her brow. She could be of use to Patrick? The man didn't even know half of what Mary did about Downton.

"I'm going to take Pharaoh for a walk. Mary, come with me," Robert said tightly. Mary turned away from the table and followed her father outside, the family dog skipping along happily at his side.

"You will make a fine Countess," Robert said as they moved down a path around the house.

"Thank you, Papa," Mary said quietly.

"You know that your Mama did not want you to learn the history of Downton at first. She wanted a more traditional upbringing for you. But I insisted that you be taught about this place, and taught to understand just how many people rely upon us. I'm pleased to see that you were paying attention."

Mary nodded slightly, her mind undecided as to whether what her father had just said was a compliment or not.

"You're very lucky that Patrick has agreed to accept you. We all are," Robert said. "I know you enjoy teasing him and poking fun at how little he knows compared to you. That isn't proper behaviour for a lady, Mary. Remember your place and try and be more friendly to Patrick."

"I doubt that Cousin Patrick and I are destined to be friends, Papa," Mary said. "And I don't know how 'lucky' I am, actually. Patrick is rather full of himself, and he enjoys gambling, more than most gentlemen that I know. I shudder to think about what he would do to this place without someone more…knowledgeable…to help him. If I'm to marry him, I'd say it's him who Fortune has shone upon."

"Mary, that's the attitude that I'm speaking of," Robert scolded her. "You need Patrick."

"The world is changing, Papa," Mary retorted. "Why have you not considered alternatives? You know Mama and Granny are prepared to fight for me. Why won't you?"

"It's not my place to, Mary," Robert said. "It is my duty to follow the terms of the entail, as my predecessors expected the Earl to do when they drafted it. I'm a custodian, not an owner. Downton is my third parent and my fourth child and I can't act recklessly with it. The terms of the entail are clear."

Mary bit back her stinging reply. The entail. Everything always came back to the entail and how her Papa was trapped by it, and his daughters in turn. When she was younger, she had accepted it, and was still accepting it to a degree by agreeing to marry Patrick following her Season. But she found that as she spent more time with Patrick and her debut approached, she was beginning to question everything, including her father's ambivalence and the whether terms of the entail should be followed so faithfully.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Matthew Crawley, Manchester, England December 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew paced nervously around the empty dining room. The house was cold, being empty and unused. He kept the heat on just enough so the plumbing would not freeze over. He buried his hands in his pockets and glanced over to the windows every so often.<p>

"Papa, we need to go," he said. "Mary and Mother are waiting at City Hall. You wouldn't want me to be late for my own wedding, would you?"

Dr. Crawley continued to look out the window, the small backyard filling his gaze. He did not look over at his son as he replied in a soft voice.

"There's plenty of time, Matthew. Your appointment is still well over an hour away."

Matthew exhaled, stopping his pacing and leaning against the wall. He could not help but glance around the room, imagining a long table covered with a Christmas feast, Mary presiding over the gathering as an accomplished hostess, and his parents beaming from their side of the table with friends and family complimenting him on their lovely home.

'_Mary decorated the entire house' _ he would say proudly. _'I just wrote the cheques and tried to stay out of her way.'_

'_And my dear husband was not entirely successful in that,'_ Mary would shoot back with a teasing smile. _'Which is why in the New Year, I will be shopping for a new sideboard. Matthew cracked this one when he thought it would look better by the window.'_

"It seems I'm not the only one daydreaming of the potential of this place," Dr. Crawley said in amusement.

Matthew looked over at his smiling father and blushed.

"Yes, well, I have to do something to pass the time while you gaze out the window," Matthew said.

"Just thinking about all the possibilities, all the memories that you'll create here. This home is lovely, but also practical, which was why I bought it for you in the first place. When Dr. Cavendish's son was married, he bought him one of those blasted motorcars. Entirely inappropriate. This home, Matthew, your home, is meant to be far more than something flashy for you to show off."

Dr. Crawley coughed, presumably because of the dust and cleared his throat as a comfortable silence returned between them. Matthew knew his father was imagining grandchildren playing in the backyard and running through the halls.

"When we finally do move in," Matthew said quietly. "Whenever that will be, I was thinking of getting the same bed as yours and putting it in one of the guest bedrooms. That way you'll have something familiar to sleep on in the event that it's too late to walk home or even just for you and Mama to nap."

"Plan your house the way you wish, Matthew," Dr. Crawley smiled wistfully at him. "I do appreciate the gesture, but there's no need. I am highly adaptable to changing circumstances. So is your mother."

Matthew chuckled at his father's response. "It's no trouble, Papa. You may as well have your own room here. You'll be over often enough."

"If you think that's best, Matthew," Dr. Crawley said.

Matthew looked around again and wandered over to the living room. The empty fireplace crackled to life in his mind. He saw cozy evenings snuggled with Mary on the sofa, the fire warming them as they read together. He blushed again as he imagined other activities they could pursue on the sofa in front of a roaring fire, and he swallowed, trying to calm himself.

"Well," Dr. Crawley said, walking past Matthew and heading over to the foyer. "Let's get going. I've seen enough of this house to confirm it is everything I wanted for you. Best to save the rest of the day's sentimentality for a wedding that I've been invited to."

Matthew shook his head and followed his father to the door. As he opened it, Dr. Crawley patted his son on the back affectionately, then stepped out into the bitter cold air.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Lady Philomena Grey, Manchester, England, December 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Do you know what day tomorrow is?" Matthew asked, running his hand along Mary's bare back as she rested her head on his chest.<p>

Her own fingers slid along his ribs. "It's Sunday, isn't it?" she said easily.

"Yes…and?"

"Oh! I need to make sure I bring my gloves to Church. I forgot them last weekend and my hands were practically frozen stiff," Mary said, smiling against his skin.

"Have you gone off me already that you have no memory of our wedding day or that tomorrow is our anniversary?" Matthew laughed.

Her hand slid down past his thighs and squeezed him, causing him to grunt in surprise.

"I wouldn't say I've gone off you just yet," Mary teased.

"Naughty minx," Matthew smiled. "I'm trying to be serious. Since tomorrow is our anniversary and I do not want to spend the day arguing, I am declaring a moratorium on all discussion of Downton."

"That's the smartest thing you've said in weeks," Mary declared, turning and looking at him.

"After we finish today's argument," Matthew said pointedly.

"Matthew!" Mary said sharply, rolling her eyes and settling back down on his chest. "Darling, it's as though you've traded one worry for another. You've moved your grief for you father into this new frazzled concern towards a fate we don't know will ever happen."

He opened his mouth to respond when she ran her fingers along his lips.

"Stop concerning yourself with this and leave it be," she said softly. "What can I do to make you start the moratorium immediately?"

Matthew swallowed as she kissed his chest, her hand moving down his body once more. He reached out and gently took her wrist, drawing her attention to him.

"This isn't like you," he said quietly. "You don't just give up. Why have you now? Why won't you even consider fighting?"

Mary huffed and sat up fully in bed. She brought her knees to her chest, crossing the blanket across her breasts.

"I didn't give up Matthew," she said, not looking at him. "I fought and I lost. There is no point to considering a new attack or forming a strategy, nothing has changed, and nothing will change."

Matthew sat up in bed and reached forward towards his wives partially exposed naked body. He kissed her back, then her shoulder.

"You fought alone, Mary," he whispered. "You believed that when it came down to facing Patrick for what he did, your family would stand behind you, and they didn't. Darling I'm sorry that you had to endure that. So very sorry. But I'm here now, Mary. You have reinforcements. My father believed in your cause, and so do I."

"Oh, Matthew, what am I always telling you?" she sighed, a shiver running down her spine, partly from his lips, and partly from her harsh memories. "Your father gave me too much credit, and so do you."

"It isn't because you're…scared…is it?" Matthew asked.

Mary turned her head and glared at him before she looked away.

"Don't be ridiculous," she spat.

Mary looked down at the bedspread and the wedding ring she only got to wear when they were together. She cleared her throat and spoke with as much confidence as she could muster.

"You weren't there, Matthew. You didn't see the way they judged me, the way they scrutinized everything that I did. No matter what I accomplished, it was never enough. I was inferior, never good enough, that much was always clear. Why would I want to go back to a place like that? To people like that?" she asked.

"Darling," Matthew said, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her against his chest. His hands linked with hers over her knees.

"They took everything from me," she whispered. "Even now, I can't walk down the street wearing your ring and holding your arm. My own husband, for God's sake! I'll be dammed if they can now have you too."

"You can have it all back, Mary," Matthew said, kissing her cheek. "Downton, me, it can all be yours, just as you deserve. We just need to fight…together."

Mary sighed. She turned her head and kissed him.

"Can we please start the moratorium now?" she pleaded.

"Of course," Matthew nodded, touching his forehead to hers. "As long as you promise me you'll think about what I've said."

"I'll think about it after tomorrow," Mary relented. "Until then, I'm only going to think about what we did this same time last year, and ways to do it all better."

"Better?" Matthew exclaimed in surprise.

"It has been a year, darling. Surely we've become more…skilled," Mary arched her eyebrow at him before leaning in for another kiss.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Midland Hotel, Manchester, England December, 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"The Royal Suite?" Mary frowned at Matthew after the double doors closed.<p>

"Is it not to your taste?" he asked nervously, walking back into the parlour after dismissing the bellman.

"No, no, it's lovely," Mary said lightly, hoping he did not misunderstand her. "It's just that it's quite expensive, I would expect."

"The most expensive room in the city," Matthew nodded, coming forward and taking her hands in his. "And not nearly what you deserve, darling."

"Matthew…" she shook her head, looking down at their joined hands.

"What?" he asked in an amused tone. She eventually brought her eyes back up to look at him.

"You don't have to do this," Mary began. "I didn't marry you today because I expect fancy clothes and sparkling diamonds and luxury and excess at every turn. I had that already, and it was worthless in the end. I don't need all of this," she said, tilting her head to take in the large living space. "I only need you."

Matthew chuckled. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. He stepped back and took her hand, walking her through to the dining area, with its large table and elegant chandelier.

"Mary, I like doing this for you," Matthew smiled. "I know that you're used to a large house and servants and choosing clothes and doing the Season. I know that living in Manchester and having to work at the hospital and living under Lady Philomena's roof are not what you envisioned your life to be. But when you're with me, Mary, when we're together, I want to show you another life, a better life."

"You already show me that!" she objected. "You show me at every turn, and not only when you spend money. Matthew, it's not your job to spoil me."

"Actually, I think it is," Matthew frowned playfully. "It must have been in our vows somewhere. Something about 'for richer'?"

"Or for poorer," Mary said pointedly. "This is too much, Matthew," Mary shook her head. "I don't even want to know how much this cost your parents."

"My parents?" Matthew frowned in confusion. "What makes you think that they had anything to do with this?"

"Well, surely you needed help to afford this?" Mary questioned him.

Matthew laughed and kissed her once more. "Lady Mary, I am perfectly capable of paying for my own wedding night, thank you. And we haven't even discussed the honeymoon yet."

"Matthew," she shook her head again.

"Don't worry about anything, except our destination," Matthew said firmly. "Whatever you desire, wherever you wish to go, say it and I shall take you there."

Mary smiled at him playfully. Her husband was quite sweet, and very deferential to her, but surely he was merely boasting. She could not envision how Matthew could afford all of this on a mere lawyer's salary. She would say as much, but even she was not cold enough to throw out such a rebuke on her own wedding night.

"Would you like to see the South Pacific painted by Gauguin? Or the great barrier reef in Australia? Perhaps the Pyramids in Egypt? Or the Great wall of China? I'll find you the lost city of Troy or the library of Alexandria! Name it, Mary and it's yours," Matthew said, his smile eager.

"Stop it, darling. Stop it this instant. Do you really think I married you because I wanted clothes, or jewellery, or fancy trips to faraway lands?" she scolded him lightly.

She reached out and pushed his suit jacket off of him and dropped it to the floor. Matthew gazed at her with great interest, keeping himself quiet as Mary slowly undid his vest, then his shirt buttons.

"I came here last winter, all alone, to another world, another life, and found to my delight, another part of my soul. You revived something in me, Matthew, something I didn't even think was there. I thought my life would be dark and filled with despair, and you showed me a life that I did not even know existed."

His chest was soon bared to her. Mary stepped closer and kissed his shoulder, then his neck, and brought her lips across his chest with light pecks.

"Mary," Matthew sighed, his hands moving to her hips and holding her close to him.

"I don't want or need to see anyplace else. I don't want to see the world. Only you. _All of you_."

Her hands went to his trousers and Matthew swallowed audibly. He stilled her fingers and she looked up at him in confusion.

"Wait, darling," he gasped. "Are you sure? I don't want to do anything to remind you of…you don't have to feel as though you have an obligation to…"

Mary quirked her eyebrow at him, then kissed him

"I don't have any demons, Matthew," she smiled, kissing his neck. "You already exorcised them, by being so kind, and patient, and understanding, by being a perfect gentleman, and never demanding anything from me. You don't need to hold back, Matthew. Now that we're married, everything is permitted."

"Everything?" Matthew asked, his voice shaky.

Mary stilled her hands and looked up at him. She shook slightly as she caught his eyes, the need inside of him so obvious to her. She had never seen him look at her like that before and it made her shiver with anticipation.

"Everything, Matthew," she nodded.

"I…I just want our first night together to be perfect for you, to be everything you should have had before…" Matthew babbled.

"Shh…" Mary smiled, kissing him again. "Don't you dare say his name. The only man I'm thinking about is you, and I'm thinking rather scandalous thoughts at the moment."

"Mary, my darling," he whispered.

Mary gasped as he turned her around. He kissed her neck, his hands moving up her sides, brushing past her breasts and to her shoulders.

"Have I ever told you how much I admire your hair?" he said lightly, his fingers delicately moving her coiffure to the side to expose the nape of her neck to his lips. "It's always so immaculate, so perfect."

Mary swallowed as he kissed her bare skin. His fingers deftly began removing the pins from her hair. She had no idea how he knew where to find them, or how he pulled them from the layers of her hair almost as deftly as Anna used to, but as each one fell to the floor, her breathing quickened.

"I have wondered what your hair would look like when set free, Mary," he continued, each kiss a shock to her body as her hair could no longer maintain its shape and tumbled down her back.

His contented hum against her skin sounded like a primal growl and she shivered again as he pulled her long tresses across her shoulder to once again bare her neck to him.

She swallowed again as his fingers made quick work of the buttons down the back of her dress. As each one surrenders to his hands, she felt more and more of herself being exposed to him, until her dress falls to her feet, the only thing standing between them the silk of her shift.

"No corset?" he smiled against her back. "Good."

She blushed fiercely, growing keenly aware of a heat at her core that cannot be quelled. Truthfully, she went without a corset because her dress did not require one to maintain the appropriate shape. She realizes now how wise she was to choose this dress, as it has had a delightfully unexpected benefit.

Her eyes blink open as his kisses stop. His hands hold the straps of her shift, his fingers frozen.

"Please, Mary," he says softly, the aggressiveness in his previous tone gone. "May I…can I please…I want to see you, if you will permit it."

She can't help but smile. His hands are trembling on her shoulders and it gives her confidence. Surely he must want to tear the last barrier to her naked body away from her? And yet he doesn't. He even asks for her permission. How did she find him? How did she choose such a man?

She reaches her hands up and covers both of his. She guides him to ease the straps over her arms and down. Her arms fall to her sides and he pulls her shift the rest of the way. His hands cup her breasts and they both inhale sharply, the touch arousing both of them. No one has ever touched her quite like this before, with love, and she's almost shocked at how good it feels.

A smile comes to her lips and she turns her head and kisses his cheek. She opens her eyes and looks at him, the questioning and nervous expression on his face only stirs her arousal further.

"Yours, Matthew," she whispers. "For always."

They kiss and it's as though the touch of their lips washes away all nervousness and fear and trepidation and replaces it all with a flaring heat that feels intoxicating and right. She spins in his arms and he lifts her off the floor. They are quickly in the bedroom, the soft blankets and pillows breaking their fall as they move to bed with desperate haste. She undoes his pants, pushes his shorts off before she realizes that he's completely naked and she's seeing him, feeling him for the first time. He unties her knickers, then seems to have the same thought as her. His eyes widen and he glances at her, wondering if she'll recoil.

She reaches up and frames his face with her hands. A beaming smile pulls him forward and they kiss, the gasp from her as their bodies touch cracks his restraint. She feels soft and warm and amazing beneath him, and his hands clutch the blankets to stop his desire from consuming him.

She needs him close, closer than he already is pressed against her. She feels his weight on top of her, and it feels good, not at all like that other time when a rat of a man smothered her. She can't even think back to that moment, her mind won't allow her to be scared or tense up. She's too occupied processing the feel of his firm buttocks, his warm back, his chest covering her breasts and the points of heat that are bursting on her neck, her chest and between her legs. Her hands all over him, and she can't stop herself from exploring his body. She realizes it's all hers, all of him, his strong muscles and soft ticklish spots all belong to her now, and she can touch him as much as she wishes. Her eyes widen as a coil of delightful sensation seems to be growing in her centre, and just when she thinks she can't be any more aroused than she already is, she finds another level.

"Mary," he hisses and she looks at him, his eyes so blue and his gaze so loving that she thinks she might explode from his glance alone.

His weight is balanced on his forearms on either side of her head. Her hands are across his lower back, her legs parted for him. They stare at each other, an entire discussion passing silently between them.

His eyes tell her he will love her until the last breath leaves his body.

Her nod tells him 'me too'.

Matthew thrusts into Mary and they both cry out at the sensation. He goes agonizingly slow at first, gritting his teeth and grunting in restraint, fighting the urge to move faster or to close his eyes in rapture. He needs to see her, catch any sign of discomfort or pain so he can pull out. He has never wanted anything more desperately in his entire life than to make this good for her, to be everything that she deserves.

Her hands travel down to his buttocks, squeezing him wantonly. She sees him trying to control himself, waiting for her. Her face is flushed, the heat of their bodies and her own arousal allowing him to slide into her further. It all feels so overwhelming, so different, so incredible.

"Take me, Matthew," she whispers, pulling him down to her.

He groans as his control snaps. Her voice, her words, her body wrapped around him, it's too much. He thrusts forward and she moans, clutching him closer and he's moving faster and she's kissing his cheek, her legs tighten around his hips.

Her ragged breathing and the pushing of her hips drives him mad with lust. He draws back and his eyes fire open, watching her face as she comes apart around him. He becomes quickly addicted to her cries of pleasure, wanting to hear her, a greedy thrill running through him that it's him who's causing this – that he's loving her.

His head falls to the pillow next to her ear. His hips grow frantic, his release calling to him, flooding his senses. He blinks quickly and realizes the sound that he can hear over the roaring of his blood is her voice. She turns her face and kisses his damp cheek, the same noise coming to him again and again.

"Matthew," she chants over and over, the desire and love and slight hint of shock in her tone thrills him and he redoubles his efforts.

He tries to warn her with a gasp of her name. He tries to pull back and raise himself off of her. She is insistent, wrapping her arms around his back and refusing to let go. She clings to him, continuing to call his name and he cannot deny her as he pushes hard one last time and cries out, his groans immediately swallowed by her mouth as she kisses him through his release.

He vaguely remembers not to collapse on top of his wife as his limbs lose all their strength and he manages to roll them over before his back meets the cool sheets of the large bed.

She curls against his warm skin, a dull ache spreading through her body that is not at all unpleasant.

For several moments, the only sound is both of them trying to catch their breath.

"Was that…did you…was I…" he stumbles.

"Yes," she laughs, a wonderful sound of uninhibited glee that he burns into his memory. "It was. I most certainly did, and you were…you were wonderful, darling."

He laughs along with her. Relief, joy and a somewhat more wicked emotion overtaking his senses. He's overjoyed that it went so well, but more so that it was good for her, that he didn't fail her.

"Although, you know, husband," Mary says lightly, reaching up and kissing his cheek. "It may have all merely been a case of beginner's luck."

He actually snarls at her remark. Relief is forgotten. Joy is pushed to the side. He focuses instead on the other emotion stirring his imagination.

Her wrist is seized. A whimper leaves her throat. Her hand is pushed downward and comes into contact with him. Her eyes go wide in surprise and elation. Weren't they supposed to just go to sleep now?

"Matthew!" she gasps.

He pulls her on top of him this time, his hands finding her hips and moving her, gently but firmly, to where he wants her.

Wants her. God, he'll never stop wanting her.

"I'll show you who's a beginner," he growls, leering up at her.

Her face changes from bewildered surprise to seductive challenge in an instant. He briefly wonders what he has gotten himself into before they both push against each other and join each other in rapture.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Royal Infirmary, Manchester, England, April 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"It is with great pride and appreciation that I make this dedication. This plaque and the surrounding jubilee garden represent a tribute to fifty years of noble service to this institution. There have been a number of changes for this profession, this city and our world in this time, and yet as long as I knew Dr. Reginald Crawley, he did not flinch. He was a favourite son of Manchester, and it is with great humility that we now…."<p>

Matthew knew it was rude but he stopped listening to the hospital board president drone on. He had known Paul Tinslingham for years, and although he was a respected doctor and stately gentleman, he did ramble.

He saw several birds perched on the tree branches just behind the podium that the board president stood on. It was a beautiful spring day, a fitting setting for this tribute to his father, which Matthew wasn't overly thrilled about. It was strange how after losing his father, Matthew seemed to be constantly reminded of him.

He felt eyes upon him and he glanced about, wondering if it was Lord Merton examining him from afar or more hopefully, Mary giving him her steady secret support. However, as he turned he saw it was Stella, Mr. Tinslingham's eldest daughter that sought his attention. Matthew looked away quickly; his presumed bachelor status was of great interest to an increasing number of women since his father's death.

He barely kept his outrage at bay. During Dr. Crawley's lifetime, no one knew of how well off they were, or in particular, how much money Matthew made as a lawyer. They didn't circulate to every party and he didn't go to London often, so though they were known, his eligibility was never an active topic among the upper classes. The sudden interest in Matthew therefore must have stemmed from someone who knew about just how much money had been left to him from his father's Estate. It did not take much effort to deduce who was the source of such gossip. Lord Merton was many things to Matthew – Mary's Godfather, a patron of the hospital, a family acquaintance, and a powerful member of Manchester Society. Matthew could now add conniving and petty to the list, though Mary had already warned him about that.

The hospital had received a generous contribution to its endowment fund from Dr. Crawley's Estate, but not nearly as much as they had apparently been expecting. Matthew smirked. If only the distinguished Lord Merton knew that Dr. Crawley had left twice as much money to Mary as he did to the hospital, the old man would be even more livid.

All of this leant a certain duplicity to this dedication ceremony. While Isobel was pleased with how beautiful the space was and the plaque was certainly lovely, Matthew was far more cynical about it. He could hear the entreaties now. 'Reginald would have wanted to ensure the surgical department had the best facilities, don't you agree, Matthew?' 'If we are to continue to be at the forefront of medicine in Britain, we must continually renew ourselves. You can play a leading role in that, Matthew. Just as Reginald would have wanted.'

Matthew did not know exactly what Lord Merton intended by this obvious strategy to lure him into the Manchester social scene. Did he honestly think Matthew was so easily seduced that he would spend his father's money on a new wife and funds for the hospital?

Matthew almost frowned outwardly at his inner thoughts. Of course that's what Lord Merton assumed. Matthew had inherited money and was the heir to an Earldom now. People made presumptions about him. They assumed that now that he had money and a future in Yorkshire, he had no use for Manchester or his job as a lawyer. Even the partners in his law firm assumed he would be resigning. Matthew was incensed by such shallow and superficial beliefs from such educated people. His life was not a mere shopping list to be completed over time. Money, check. Title, check. Estate in Yorkshire, check. Obviously all that was left was a wife and children and to move away from Manchester!

After rebuking the partners rather strongly and informing them in no uncertain terms that his future at the firm would depend not on his family status but on whether he felt fulfilled by the work or not, he returned home and complained to Mary when he saw her that evening.

"_I'm dying my hair grey and growing a grisly beard. Perhaps then all of these conniving people will stop trying to push themselves at me._"

Mary always knew how to deal with his moods. She had laughed, pulled him into a warm embrace and lectured him on the fact that women interested in his money would not care about his actual physical appearance, and that certainly Lord Merton would be even less bothered.

After the ribbon had been cut around the new plaque and the traditional bottle of champagne broken over it, the guests were now standing around the lawn. The chatting however was dull and uninteresting. Matthew stayed close to his mother, and pretended to be listening to her conversation. As he saw Lord Merton approach, he willed himself to remain calm.

"Ah, Matthew," Lord Merton said with a dashing smile, his teeth showing as he grinned.

Matthew nodded to him. He was past trying to make pleasantries.

"Is everything to your liking? We so wanted to honour your father. Fifty years of service to this hospital is a remarkable achievement. Although some board members squabbled about the fact he wasn't technically in the institution's service until he was a licensed doctor, I fought for him. I said, as a seventeen year old volunteer he was already on his path; therefore it was indeed fifty years."

"Thank you for everything you've done," Matthew said dismissively. "But, if you will excuse me…"

"Have you given thought to Lord Grantham's request?" Lord Merton continued. "He would like you to arrive at Downton in September, as you know."

"We're still in mourning, Lord Merton," Matthew said tightly. "I appreciate the Earl's concern, but I'm not considering anything until after we've spent the year we owe to my father."

"Certainly, Matthew, certainly," Lord Merton nodded. "On another matter, if I may be so bold, a private word of warning," he lowered his voice and he gestured for them to step aside.

Matthew frowned. This man was tiresome and relentless – a dangerous combination. Seeing that Matthew had not moved, Lord Merton relented and merely spoke in soft tones.

"I simply wish to give you some counsel about the silly young girls I saw trying to get your attention this afternoon. Well, you heard the oath, _primum non oncere; first do no harm. _There are a number of women here who may be more interested in your newfound status than anything else. I know, it's horrible to imagine. In particular, I would warn you to stay away from the assistant who works with your mother – Lady Mary," Lord Merton said sternly. "She may be very beautiful, but she will harm you, and you've got so much potential my boy."

"My mother only has good things to say about her," Matthew said innocently. "Do you know her well, Lord Merton?"

"She's my Goddaughter," Lord Merton huffed. "So I know her character better than most. While I do not wish to betray confidences, there is a reason she is here in Manchester, and not in Yorkshire, and if you've heard any rumours about her, you may want to be mindful about them. They are not the usual lies and gossip that flutter around Society from time to time. There's more truth to them than you may realize."

Matthew grit his teeth behind his pursed lips. How dare this man say such things about his wife!

"Matthew," he heard his name and calmed himself. He turned towards his mother.

"I'm sorry but I'm feeling a headache and I would like to retire from this little party. Would you accompany me?"

"Of course, mother," he said. He politely made his excuses, taking some small satisfaction in seeing Lord Merton somewhat put off by their sudden departure.

As they strode out of the little garden and across the street into Whitworth Park, Isobel smiled at her son.

"You're welcome," she said quietly. "I'm starting to see your point about needing to go with you to Yorkshire. You clearly are not capable to surviving on your own with their kind of people."

Matthew smiled. His constant entreaties to his Mother were beginning to take hold.

"I've always said I'll need more than a green cockatiel named Abel on my side," Matthew said.

"I don't know what kind of welcoming committee you'll receive when you arrive with a bird cage in one hand and your elderly mother on your arm, but I suppose that won't be the only shock our new family will receive," Isobel laughed. "Abel may not know how to leave his cage, but I do."

"I'll be proud to have both of you with me," Matthew nodded. "I'll appreciate having someone on my side," he sighed. "I still don't know how I can live under the same roof as Mary and pretend to not know her."

"I'd say that's an improvement over the way you've been carrying on since your marriage," Isobel teased.

"Be serious," Matthew scolded.

"I don't begin to understand why you have to maintain this ruse of not knowing each other or living together. I did not understand it in the beginning, and I fail to comprehend it now. A woman should not be judged by her past, and if you are the heir, then who your wife is should have no bearing on anything," Isobel said fiercely.

"You know I cannot betray Mary's trust and reveal all of it," Matthew grumbled. "You'll just have to take it on faith."

"Of course," Isobel chuckled, smiling at her son. "That I have in abundance."

"Besides, the less you know, the better," Matthew smiled. "Better for them to think us both ignorant and underestimate us."

"To their peril," Isobel laughed. Matthew was glad for her good humour. Though she seemed to have adjusted to his father's passing better than he had, he knew she was just being stoic. He knew his mother was always happiest with a task or mission to focus on, and in going with him to Downton Abbey in the fall, she would be taking on her biggest crusade yet.

Now all they had to do was convince Mary.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Midland Hotel, Manchester, England, December, 1912<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary smiled as she heard a knock at the door. She had been standing by the window, looking down at the city below, lightly touching the turquoise bee broach pinned to her dress. It was a combined birthday, Christmas and wedding gift from Dr. Crawley given to her a year ago. It represented the bee mosaic which was on the floor of the Manchester City Hall, a coded symbol of her marriage to Matthew that she could flaunt in public.<p>

She went to the door and opened it. Matthew stood across the threshold. He smiled at her in an entirely improper fashion. She backed away to permit him entry into their suite, a smile crossing her lips as he closed the door behind him, his eyes upon her the entire time.

"Hello, lover," she said thickly.

Matthew raised his eyebrow teasingly. "What would your husband's reaction be if he heard you call me that?"

"I have a fairly good idea," she smirked, deliberately glancing down his body before looking back up at his wide eyes.

She laughed as he hugged her and they kissed.

"Are you sure that you want to stay here again?" he asked, keeping her in his hold. "St. Pancras Station is just outside. It's not too late to take a trip."

"You are very stubborn," she said coyly.

"_I'm stubborn_?" Matthew said with a chuckle. "Now that is rich."

"I want to spend my first anniversary here," Mary said her voice a delicate whisper, "With you, husband, in Manchester, in this suite, where we spent our wedding night."

"Well, that is a relief. Because I've made a lot of plans that required a lot of work, and money and time, I would have hated to simply chuck that all away on a whim."

The church bells chimed signalling it was six o'clock at night.

"What time was that last train to Paris?" Mary asked her face now serious and poised with interest.

Matthew's rolled his eyes at her playfully. He released her and they both took a seat on the sofa.

"I've got a Cinderella Weekend planned for us here," he said.

"What is a weekend?" Mary responded with confusion. However, she couldn't keep her face serious any longer and her mask broke free betraying her amusement. "My Granny once said that to a guest she considered a simpleton."

"For our first night of entertainment, beyond the memorable spectacle that will happen behind our closed doors…"

"Matthew!" Mary admonished him sternly, although she couldn't help but blush.

"We will listen to the string quartet orchestra at the Gaiety Theatre; they will be playing a new British composer by the name of Gustav Holst."

"He doesn't sound British! And how is that Cinderella related?" Mary laughed.

"If you would let me finish, you would know to trust a name can be anything, it has no borders. Well, Mr. Holst wrote a piece called Cinderella. The word Cinderella isn't just a fairy tale name; it is recognized as someone who can achieve despite all odds; even if they are neglected or underappreciated. It has long been a name that produces inspiration and hope."

"Indeed?" Mary asked, finding it so typically Matthew to be attracted to such symbolism.

"And for the next night? What do you propose?" she asked boldly.

"We will see a production of Cinderella that is supposed to be good fun as it's done in pantomime."

"Sounds scandalous," Mary replied evenly.

"I assure you it's nothing of the sort," Matthew huffed defensively a twinkle in his eyes. "The Gaiety theatre is owned by a woman, who wears exotic clothing and smokes cigarettes. Hmm, actually, on second thought…"

Mary laughed. She then stood up and Matthew looked at her in surprise as she wandered towards the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Matthew asked.

"To get our weekend off to a good start," Mary said, disappearing into the bedroom. Matthew frowned as he tried to decipher her meaning.

"Come here, Matthew," she called. "Unless you want to spend the weekend sleeping on that sofa."

Matthew almost tripped on the coffee table in his haste to get to her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, June 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You haven't gotten much better at scheming," Mary smirked, her head draped lazily against his chest. "You are as easy to read as a children's book."<p>

"I don't know what you are referring to," Matthew smiled, moving slightly into a more comfortable position. The shifting of his body caused him to push his hips against his wife and she slapped him playfully.

"That is exactly what I am referring to!" she said pointedly. "Buying me new earrings, your mother very conveniently going away for the weekend with friends at the exact time that Lady Philomena leaves for London, and having Mrs. Bird cook my favourite dinner and dessert. Your attempts at seduction are entirely transparent."

"Must I apologize for wanting to have dinner alone with my wife? Must there be a nefarious plot behind giving your jewellery? Why can't a husband merely want to show his love for his wife through innocent gestures?" he asked.

"There's nothing innocent about your insistence that I wear my new earrings to bed, _and nothing else_, as you so eloquently demanded," Mary said playfully.

"I requested you wear them to bed," Matthew pointed out. "Obviously it was your wanton streak that caused you to agree," he laughed, reaching down and pinching her bottom.

She slapped his chest again. "Stop it! You're only trying to get into my good graces before you bring up your ridiculous plan once more."

"Mary," Matthew sighed.

"Well? Call me a liar then if it isn't true!" she quirked her eyebrow at him in challenge. "You think that now that you've satisfied my desires, that I shall satisfy yours, isn't that it?"

"I think you've already done that quite conclusively, actually," he joked. "And more than once, I might add."

"Don't be rude," Mary rolled her eyes, curling herself closer to him.

"You promised me you would think about it, Mary," Matthew pointed out, hugging her closer.

"I did think about it. My answer is still no," Mary said petulantly.

"Well what am I to tell your father then? He expects me at Downton in September as you well know," Matthew shook his head.

"You can tell Lord Grantham that he can take his invitation and shove it," she spat. "He could use a strong dose of rejection, believe me. It will teach him that he can't always get what he wants."

"Mary," Matthew tried again.

"Do you know how horrible it will be? Do you have any idea?" she asked. "To live in my old home, the home that I was to spend the rest of my days in as Countess of Grantham, and to have to sleep in a separate room from my own husband? I won't be able to acknowledge you or talk to you the way I want, to touch you or embrace you, to make love to you or wake up with you or any of those things! Matthew, it will be torture!"

"I know, Mary, I know, for me as well," he nodded. "But it will be a small sacrifice, and it won't be for long. Once I smash the entail in its entirety, all can be revealed."

"How can you be so certain that you can? Unless you are able to destroy it, we'll be trapped, Matthew. They'll be parading women in front of you constantly and I won't be able to say anything to object! Why, they'll probably try and arrange something for you with Edith!" Mary sighed.

"And I will not let any of that happen," Matthew said firmly. "I believe I can do this Mary. I can make Downton safe for us, and our children. But I can't do it without you."

"Of course, you can't," Mary sighed. "I don't know, Matthew. I just don't know."

"There's no need to decide now," he said carefully. "Besides, are you so sure that we won't have any time together while we are there? I thought it was a rather big house, and you are quite resourceful when you put your mind to something."

Mary huffed. "That's not the point. There are numerous unused rooms and secret passages, attics and such that could host any number of private liaisons."

"Good," Matthew smirked. He turned towards her and drew her into a deep kiss.

"If we're to have liaisons at Downton," he said in a low voice as he rolled her on to her back. "We need to practice, darling."

"You're incorrigible," she sighed in pleasure, grinning as she ran her hands up his back and hooked her leg across the back of his thigh. "This won't convince me, Matthew, but you're welcome to keep trying," she said, before her voice was taken by a delicious moan.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, June 1888**_

* * *

><p>"Mrs. Levinson," the man nodded politely, motioning to a chair.<p>

"Lord Grantham," Martha Levinson replied in kind. She took her seat, nodding to the butler as he assisted her. She glanced around the large room, rather ostentatious for a sitting room, but then her time here for the London Season had shown her that the English enjoyed showing off, in a stoic and reserved way at least.

"Did your daughter enjoy the theatre yesterday?" Arthur Crawley asked.

"She enjoyed it about as much as your son did, I expect," Martha replied carefully.

"Good," Arthur smiled. "Robert tells me he had a splendid time."

"How lucky for all of us that the two of them are getting along," Martha smirked.

"Yes, although I must tell you that Robert is not lacking in options," Arthur said plainly. "I recommended that he consider Lady Sheila Williams, but he told me he wanted to spend time with your Cora first. He's rather sentimental, my boy."

"Yes, I imagine that he is. Men seem to become quite sentimental around Cora; almost as much as their fathers become sentimental over her dowry," Martha said evenly.

Arthur Crawley barely flinched. "You Americans. So direct and to the point, aren't you?"

"We'd rather not waste time on meaningless conversation when both sides know what they want out of an arrangement," Martha retorted.

"Very well, Mrs. Levinson," Arthur nodded. "I am prepared to agree to the engagement of your daughter to my son, subject to certain conditions. She will, upon their marriage, be known as Viscountess Downton, and once my son inherits my title and becomes Earl of Grantham, your daughter shall be Countess of Grantham, Lady Grantham to her peers, and shall have charge of both this home here in London and our country estate, Downton Abbey in Yorkshire. The title alone should be sufficient for you to brag about to your friends in Rhode Island, and may even raise you a notch or two in New York, don't you think?"

Martha smiled and chuckled slightly. The Earl of Grantham was smarter than she thought.

"And I am prepared to agree to Cora accepting your son's proposal, and to bringing her share of my husband's money into the marriage to save your beloved Downton Abbey. No one will tell her of the true intentions for this marriage. I won't have her thinking she is a throw-in to our deal. She will believe at all times that your son cares for her and that her inheritance is but a side factor."

"Of course," Arthur nodded. "And rest assured, Mrs. Levinson. My son is many things, but he was raised as a gentleman. Cora will be treated with respect and cared for, as will all of their children. I will see to it personally."

"Then we have terms, Lord Grantham," Martha nodded.

"As much as I would enjoy holding you to that, I must first ask – I trust that Cora's virtue is above reproach?" Arthur inquired.

Martha Levinson frowned and pursed her lips.

"Lord Grantham, if we were in New York, I would be well within my rights to throw this glass of wine in your face and walk out on you for having the gall to ask me that," Martha said, her eyes narrowing.

"You're in London, Mrs. Levinson," Arthur smiled. "I would insist that you use water, rather than wine, and I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't have my butler escort you to the door afterward."

Martha smiled. She was beginning to like her daughter's future father-in-law.

"Cora is pure," Martha said, sipping her wine. "Though I would be very interested to see how you would even test such an assertion."

"Your word is sufficient," Arthur nodded. "If, however, we were to learn otherwise, the engagement will be void. If such information were to come to our attention after the marriage, that would constitute grounds for divorce, and your husband's money would be forfeit."

"You don't expect to be able to enforce such terms, do you?" Martha laughed.

"I promise you, Mrs. Levinson, the marriage contract I have drafted for Cora to sign is ironclad, as is the entail that specifies the Grantham line of succession and ties Downton Abbey to the title of Earl of Grantham. I take my family's future very seriously, Mrs. Levinson. I won't allow any fallen woman to occupy my mother's seat. So long as Cora remains untouched until her wedding night, we will have no problems."

"Given the state of your finances, Lord Grantham, I highly doubt that you are in a position to make such demands," Martha said suspiciously.

"You are entitled to your opinion, Mrs. Levinson," Arthur nodded. "I assure you that men far more clever than the both of us decided long ago the precise type of woman who would be allowed to be Countess of Grantham, and they were resolved enough in their principles to set out such requirements as part of the entail, so that no unfortunate misunderstandings would occur in future generations. I, like the Earls before me, am merely carrying out their instructions. The House of Grantham will endure, Mrs. Levinson. The only question is whether or not your daughter will be a part of it."

"Was your father this onerous with regard to your wife?" Martha asked.

"He was," Arthur said tightly. "You've met dear Violet, haven't you?"

"I have," Martha nodded. "She did not appear too impressed by Cora, or me."

"Then that puts you both in esteemed company, Mrs. Levinson," Arthur smiled. "She hasn't been impressed by me in decades."

The two of them laughed together and nodded in understanding, the tension lifting slightly.

"But," Arthur continued sincerely. "Violet did give me a son, which is all an Earl needs from his marriage, truly. Children are important, but sons are vital."

Martha raised her eyebrow at his comment.

"I'm becoming more convinced that my late husband would have very much enjoyed your company," she said drily, reaching for her wine once more.

Arthur Crawley, Sixth Earl of Grantham raised his hand. The butler brought him a large envelope. Arthur passed it across the table to Martha.

"Shall we meet again this Friday evening for an announcement dinner?" Arthur offered. "Cora can sign the contract before we eat."

"We will be here with bells on," Martha nodded.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Croft, Fletcher Moss Gardens, Manchester, England, July 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Sybil writes that Lord Grantham is rather preoccupied with you," Mary said as she followed Matthew to their traditional secluded picnic spot. The parasol she held was a shield against both the sun and any prying eyes that may observe them together. She watched her husband as he lightly swung the luncheon basket.<p>

"I'm hardly worth getting worked up over," Matthew mumbled as he continued forward.

His mood whenever the subject of Downton was raised often shifted wildly. Sometimes he would bellow and gesticulate and argue for hours about what he thought was right. Other times, just as now, he would offer a few token words. His resolve was still firm, but he was tiring of the debate. They both were.

The subject of Downton had confounded both of them for weeks now. Though Mary was still officially against the idea of Matthew answering Lord Grantham's summons, they had still not resolved anything. Matthew had written back to the Earl, politely telling him that he was still in mourning for his father, and that he would reply to the Earl's request in September once it was appropriate to do so. He continued to research entails and estates law, but without the actual entail document in front of him, he could only speak in generalities, which he hated to do. Every case turned on its facts, he often said, and just because the law said one thing, that did not mean it applied in all situations. Matthew did not cope with uncertainty very well. He needed to be sure before he exposed himself to any risk.

For her part, Mary was not looking forward to the idea of her future dangling in the wind either. In Manchester she had certainty. She had a husband, a true family, and in several years time when London Society forgot her name and moved on to another scandal, she would have her freedom and could live with Matthew and be a proper wife to him. She would never be Countess of Grantham, but she would be something far more important – happy and loved.

But even she had to admit that Downton Abbey was infiltrating her life again. She had tried to forget the place, and those who lived there, besides Sybil anyway, and she had done an admirable job of doing so. But, ever since Lord Merton arrived on that fateful night to tell Dr. Crawley that he was the third cousin of Lord Grantham, long buried memories and feelings had come back to her. For months she felt rage and fury, sometimes reliving the horror of that night when Patrick came to her bedroom and the world changed. Only Matthew's soothing touch had kept her sane in her worst moments.

But lately she had been stung with something far worse – hope. It was in Matthew's bright eyes and eager voice, telling her he would stand with her, support her, fight for her. Fight for _her_. No man had ever done that before. Even Dr. Crawley had simply given a directive to reassign her from Cassandra to Isobel's supervision at the hospital. Knowing all that stood before them, Matthew was undaunted, almost foolishly so, and Mary was unable to resist beginning to believe in her husband.

Her rational mind screamed at her. The entail could not be defeated. It was impossible. If there was a way to get around it, why had her Papa never found it? Why had her Mama and her Granny not fought her corner more vigorously if the entail could be beaten? Why had she been sent away at James and Patrick's order if the very thing that gave them power over her and her family could be destroyed?

Matthew placed the basket on the grass and spread out the large blanket at the foot of the gingko tree. Mary stood off to the side, observing him as he set up the plates of food. She shook her head and smiled at her husband.

The hard truth was that Mary didn't know for sure. She couldn't know just how impregnable the entail was because no one had ever tried to challenge it. Her Papa believed it was so because his father and his grandfather before him had told him to. Murray, the family solicitor, had agreed because he was paid to do so. Her Mama agreed with her Papa even though she didn't understand any of it. And Granny wouldn't oppose her own son on this issue, no matter how much she may want to. She had never opposed her husband or his father. She was wise enough to know she could not fight them alone. Though she was Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess, she had no actual power or status with which to fight.

But Matthew believed. God help them, but Matthew believed. He would find a way, he said. He would do it for her, he promised. After years of being pushed aside, ignored, told to mind her place, Mary now had a champion, a man willing to stand up and at least try, try to help her. If she couldn't accept his attempt, wasn't she just as bad as her family? Wasn't she, like her Mama before her, admitting defeat without a fight?

But what could he do, truly? A middle class lawyer from Manchester against the Earl of Grantham, his minions and all the history of Downton Abbey? What chance did they really have?

"Mary, come here," Matthew smiled, reaching his hand out to her. "I have lemonade."

Mary smiled and went over and sat down on the blanket beside him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Village Church, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, May 1890<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Try and at least look like you are glad for our son, my dear," Arthur smiled, waving politely to the villagers lining the street. The carriage jostled slightly on the dirt road. Lord Grantham did not know if his wife's grunt was from the road conditions or her own pique.<p>

"Glad is such a strong term," Violet Crawley replied. "Although I can most assuredly say that I am not glad for you that you've apparently pulled off this scheme."

"Violet, please," Arthur sighed. "As much as you are loathe to admit it, the Levinsons have saved us. You don't need to like them. I know I don't."

"No, you just like their money," Violet said, smiling for the first time all day.

"Once again, I've found a solution to our problems that ensures the continued prestige of our House and your future, I might add. I gave up on receiving your gratitude years ago, but your cooperation I still expect," Arthur said brusquely.

"I cooperated with you when you decided to sell Rosamund to Marmaduke Painswick," Violet spat, not looking at him. "Now you've mortgaged your son's happiness to buy your way out of insolvency, Arthur. And to an American of all people! I hardly see how I should support that."

"Your son is not in any position to feel entitled to anything, let alone happiness," Arthur bit back. "You may have conveniently forgotten his incident in London, but I have not."

"He was an adolescent, Arthur," Violet rolled her eyes. "And it was just as much James' fault as his."

"James is no better than he is," Arthur frowned. "But if you expect me to believe that James was somehow the true criminal and Robert merely his unwitting accomplice, then you underestimate me again, my dear."

"What does it matter who is to blame?" Violet sighed tiredly. "You've fixed it so they won't be rid of each other anytime soon."

"And so they shouldn't be," Arthur said firmly as the carriage came to a halt. "On their own, each of them would plunge our House into ruin. I've made it so they must share power, at least for the short term, and now that we have the Levinson money, Downton may survive long enough for a proper Earl to come forward."

"Requiring that Robert and James work together for the sake of Downton is a dangerous game, Arthur," Violet frowned. "If one of them is to someday be the Earl, then that man must be given the freedom to rise and fall on his own merit."

"Why, Violet," Arthur smiled ruthlessly. "You're a romantic!"

Violet huffed bitterly and turned back to the window. "I shall forget that you called me that."

"Robert will be the Earl, Violet," Arthur said firmly. "But despite all of my guidance, he has still strayed off of the path that I have set for him. He needs direction, guidance, and requiring that he work with his heir will ensure he never has the opportunity to act recklessly with the fate of our House."

"If you truly believe that the current Earl should work side-by-side with his heir, then why don't you allow Robert some decision making power now?" Violet asked pointedly, raising her eyebrow at her husband.

"He isn't ready for the responsibility," Arthur retorted dismissively. "No, my changes to the entail shall take effect upon my death, and not a moment sooner."

"How convenient," Violet growled.

"What is, my dear wife?" Arthur asked coldly. "The amendment to the entail, or the prospect of my death? I suppose both could be seen as being a boon for you?"

Violet frowned and looked away again, guilt and annoyance fighting to a stalemate inside of her.

The door to the carriage was opened and the loud cheers of the villagers standing outside the Church filtered in.

"Smile, my dear," Arthur whispered. "Show the villagers how happy you are about the bright future that awaits all of us."

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Croft, Fletcher Moss Gardens, Manchester, England, July 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Sybil reported that Lord Grantham was particularly vexed by your letter because he expected you to accept his offer and go running to Downton Abbey immediately," Mary said, placing the last used plate into the picnic basket.<p>

"Mary, you can call him your father, you know. I'm not so upset that I can't hear that word," Matthew said.

Mary smiled at him. It was Matthew's birthday, which meant it was also his father's birthday, and he had been pensive since this morning.

"I suppose I can do that," Mary nodded. "Calling him Papa does not necessarily imply that he was a particularly good one."

Matthew smiled sadly in acknowledgment.

"I don't see what is so vexing. He sent for me and I told him that I needed to deal with matters here first, namely the mourning of my father," Matthew said.

"Well, my father is never pleased with anything; I've told you as much. Apparently he already told the family that you would be arriving in September. He doesn't cope well with not knowing precisely what's to happen in the future, and not being in control of it."

"The future," Matthew scoffed, looking out across the park. "None of us can know that."

Mary looked at him sadly. How right he was. At various times in the past years, she thought her future was set for her, and now she was again uncertain.

"Anyway, I think that you should write to him in several weeks' time and give him your decision," Mary said lightly, trying to draw his thoughts back to the present.

Matthew turned to her and appraised her cautiously.

"My decision will depend on what my wife says about the matter," he stated. "I won't go without her."

"You don't have a wife," Mary said, arching her eyebrow. "At least as far as anyone in Yorkshire knows."

Matthew exhaled and looked back across the park.

"I could command you to go, you know," Matthew said quietly, not looking at her. "You vowed to obey me."

"You could, yes," Mary said. "But would you?"

Matthew turned to her, his expression soft and concerned. "Of course not."

Mary looked down at her lap, her skirt fanned out over her legs.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"What?" Matthew asked, frowning.

Mary lifted her eyes and looked at him, her brow creased in question.

"Why have you agreed to everything I've asked of you? Accepting my scandal, agreeing to keep our relationship a secret, marrying me despite all the reasons why you shouldn't have, living apart at my request. Is it all simply because you love me?" she asked.

"Yes," Matthew nodded, smiling at her. "Precisely."

"And you don't think I'm damaged goods, even though all of Society thinks so," Mary said.

"You know that I don't," Matthew said firmly.

"And there is your first problem if you are to truly go to Downton Abbey and take up your position," Mary said. "It doesn't matter what you think, Matthew. All that matters is what opinion will gain you the most benefit and advantage. Society says that I'm a slut, and if you are to be the heir to the Earl of Grantham, then you must say it as well."

Matthew cringed. "No," he said firmly. "I won't."

"Then you'll never succeed," Mary said coldly. "You'll never gain their confidence, their trust. You'll never convince them that you're one of them, and without that, you'll never accomplish what you intend to do."

Matthew sighed. He turned away bitterly, then slowly looked back at her.

"If this is ever to have any chance of working, you must become one of them, Matthew. You must be a proper gentleman, and follow all of the rules of Society. They must see you as the Earl-in-waiting, a man who can be told everything. Do you see what you are asking of me now? Going to Downton Abbey isn't simply taking a trip to Yorkshire, my darling. No, it's putting on an act, for as long as it takes."

"What about you?" Matthew asked quietly.

Mary laughed sourly. "Me? I'll go back to being cold and careful. I'll hate you, oppose you at every turn, argue with you just to try and get a rise out of you. You represent everything that was taken from me, Matthew, everything that I lost. I'll despise you, and remind you of that fact every day."

"Mary," Matthew rolled his eyes and looked skyward.

"I'm the enemy, Matthew," Mary said firmly. "I was cast out, and I'll be returning against their wishes. You'll have to hate me just as much as they do."

"I disagree," Matthew shot back. "If the entail says what you say it does, then that's not true. As the heir, I have a certain amount of authority, and if I choose not to hate you, no one can force me to. I may not be allowed to tell them that you're my wife, but I don't have to hate you."

Mary swallowed at his response. She had never seen him argue in front of a judge, or give directions to the other lawyers in his office, but when roused, she expected that few men would want to oppose Matthew.

"But you can't choose to love me. Not there," Mary said softly.

Matthew's face fell. "Mary."

"You won't be able to kiss me," she whispered, staring him in the eyes and leaning towards him.

"You won't be able to touch me. You won't be able to strip me naked the way that you love to. You won't be able to take me, either in the middle of the day or in the still of the night. All of your desire, Matthew, all of your passion, you'll have to keep it buried. You'll have to pass each day, knowing what it feels like to make love to me, and never be able to act upon it."

Matthew groaned in protest. His eyes lingered on her lips, so close to him. He breathed to calm himself, then stared back at her eyes.

"Never is a strong word, Mary," he replied, and her breath caught as his eyes darkened. "If I were to find you alone, away from the servants and your family, would you still refuse me?"

Mary swallowed, her lips curling into a smile that she immediately tried to stifle. "Well, you are the heir, and will be the head of our family one day. It is my duty to obey your command."

Matthew felt arousal course through him and he kissed her quickly, drawing back before he lost himself in her. He calmly reached for her hand, and her eyes followed his movements. He held her open palm in his, the fingers of his other hand coming over top and caressing her wedding band.

Mary's eyes went wide at the gesture, the tears welling inside of her.

"There will be many sacrifices, for both of us," he said slowly. "But I made vows to you, Mary, and a promise to my father, and I am prepared to endure months of misery if it means a lifetime of happiness with you."

Mary closed her eyes, his words ringing in her ears.

"What if you're wrong, Matthew? What if you fail?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"Then we'll return here, content that we made every effort to put things to the good. But, Mary, what if I'm right?" Matthew replied.

Mary gasped, the visions flooding her mind, her resistance ebbing away, unable to stop the burgeoning dreams she had tried to deny.

She and Matthew riding through the fields, laughing, chasing foxes and racing each other.

She standing by Matthew during the Shoot, smiling as he raised his gun and tracked a bird through the air.

She and Matthew touring the tenant farms together; she holding on to his arm as they discussed grain costs and livestock prices.

She and Matthew sitting beside each other at dinner, laughing with Sybil and Edith, and Isobel and her Granny, while Carson and the footmen served them a delectable meal.

She and Matthew dancing together during the Servants' Ball, twirling around under the vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall.

She and Matthew making love in her bedroom at Downton Abbey, creating new memories and banishing the old ones forever.

She and Matthew taking their seats in a private box at Wimbledon during the Season, being announced as Lord and Lady Grantham.

Mary opened her eyes.

"If we are to do this together, Matthew, then I have much to teach you," she declared.

Matthew grinned. "I am yours, Mary."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, September 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>Robert wandered down the vast hall. Portraits of the previous Earls of Grantham stared down at him. He paused before one particular ancestor and sighed to himself. Robert had heard the stories countless times. The First Earl established the Earldom in the 18th century. Robert looked about the gallery of paintings. None of the other Earls were as grandiose as the First, none could compete, not even his father; though he had tried. Robert took a step backwards, his hands clasped together behind his back. He analyzed the picture of the First Earl and the lessons of his boyhood came back easily. His father had often made him and James stare at this work of art as if by looking upon the stern unblinking gaze, they would each somehow inherit his qualities.<p>

"_Learn who he was, and you'll learn who you should be,"_ his father had said cryptically.

James, who was never inclined to listen, had spent the time making jokes and criticizing their ancestor, especially the glaring infirmity of having lost his right arm in combat. In the portrait, nothing was hidden, and in fact the Earl puffed out his chest and displayed his missing limb proudly, it was the focal point; despite the gleaming awards and medals adorning his chest. The Earl was seated in a plush red chair wearing the military uniform from his exploits as an Admiral in His Majesty's Navy. Due to his many heroic exploits, the Earl had rarely lived on English soil or at his estate. He had preferred always to be at sea, commanding his naval army rather than be with his wife and children. His portrait, therefore, was domineering to remind everyone he was still looming over them, still the Lord of the manor, still impacting their lives from afar.

Robert was groomed from birth to take up his father's title. He was drilled in the family history and how it all mattered. Tradition. History. Legacy. They were not the clichés that James thought they were in their childhood. They stood for something.

When Robert married Cora, sons were expected of them. The title and estate would pass on through Robert's line and James would never inherit. When Patrick was born, James received praise, but the child was seen more as a signal that Robert, the true heir, would soon have a son of his own.

When Mary was born, everyone welcomed her. There would be more children, and so, while James was smug that he alone had produced a male child to that point, even he knew that the moment Cora produced a son, the future of the Earldom and of Downton would be secure.

Then Edith was born soon after, and Sybil after her. With the birth of the Earl's third daughter, James' attitude changed. Suddenly, Patrick was no longer just a boy or a cousin. He was the only male descendent of the Grantham line in his generation. Though James was younger than Robert, there was a small chance that the Earl would outlive his cousin. But the likelihood that Cora would have another child, let alone a son after three daughters, was small. James began devouring the family history, spending hours in the library at Downton Abbey. He had to catch up on all that he had ignored during his youth. Fate had decided that now he and Patrick would wield the balance of power in the family, and he relished the idea.

Robert sighed as he came to his father's portrait. Even the Sixth Earl, known for his foresight and his meticulous nature, could never have predicted what had come to pass. Both of Robert's heirs had been snatched away from him. It was nearly a year and a half since the _Titanic_ disaster. Surely if James and Patrick had survived, there would have been word by now? The reality was Robert had lost his heirs, and he needed to act.

So once again he did what he had to do to carry on his duty and honour his ancestors. He found another heir, and when tragedy had struck Dr. Reginald Crawley, Robert reached out to his son, Matthew. The new heir, the last living heir presumptive, a mere solicitor from Manchester, would finally be arriving in the coming weeks. Lord Merton had warned Robert that this Matthew Crawley was wilful, stubborn, an independent thinker, and never did anything without careful consideration. Robert thought such a description amusing. No one could be as troublesome as James had been. Matthew would be a breath of fresh air, and Robert would ensure he was handled properly.

In his weaker moments, Robert still believed that somehow Patrick would return. After all, his cousin's son was younger and stronger than his father had been. Robert couldn't say that he approved of Patrick, but it didn't matter what he thought; the man would have married Mary and ensured the Grantham line remained pure. But that plan, like so many others, had been wasted by his eldest daughter's foolishness. Robert exhaled his peeved breath of exasperation. It was almost as though Mary was James's daughter for all of her deception and scandal and refusal to listen. She had a dangerous spark in her, a penchant for rebellion that was cute in her childhood but had become a glaring flaw as she grew into a young lady.

If Robert had his way, Mary would be living with his mother-in-law in America, never to be seen again. But Lord Merton had intervened, with some prodding by the Dowager Countess. How could Robert trust Lord Merton's assessment of his heir if the man was ignorant enough to give Mary a haven in England? No, Robert would not make the same mistake he had done with James and Patrick. He would take Matthew under his wing right from the off, and ensure he was controlled from his arrival.

"I thought I would find you here," Cora said, startling him out of his reverie.

Robert turned his gaze away from the painting and towards his wife. She looked pensive, and as he appraised her, he noticed she was holding an opened letter in her hand.

"And here I am," Robert answered, rather annoyed at the interruption. "You have something to tell me?" he asked impatiently.

"Yes," Cora continued. She took a tentative step closer, "Mary has written." She held up the letter and simply let the words hang in the air between them.

"She would dare? That is rather presumptuous of her. What could she possibly have to say that we would have any interest in?" Robert demanded angrily. After all this time, she wrote to them? Her exile had obviously taught her nothing. She was still speaking out of turn.

"She writes that she is coming back," Cora said cautiously, "She says that now that James and Patrick have been declared dead and their mourning period is over, and there is a new heir, there is no reason for her to remain away, or to remain banished, as she puts it."

Robert's already rigid posture tensed. He knew he should have censored Sybil from writing to Mary. Cora had told him it was harmless. His wife had failed him yet again.

"Out of the question," he said firmly. "She can't return when she has been offered no reconciliation. The door was closed to her when she left. Mary can be such a child sometimes, assuming that all will be forgiven with the passage of time."

Cora looked at the portrait of the Sixth Earl, the man who had made her sign her marriage contract, binding her father's money to Downton, and in turn to the Earldom. She sighed with sad resignation.

"What should I tell her?"

Robert unlaced his joined hands behind his back.

"My dear," he said coldly. "You'll tell her nothing. You'll also tell Sybil that she is forbidden from writing to Mary any further."

Cora nodded sadly. As much as she wanted to fight for her daughter, the world they lived in made no concessions available at the moment. Perhaps in the future, but currently, there was no salvation for Mary from her scandal. Cora had made discreet inquiries in London over the past Seasons, and the rumours of Mary and the Turk still lingered. They had ebbed slightly, but if Mary were to return, they would be revived, as fresh as the day they were first spoken. It made her heartsick, but she knew it was fruitless to fight Robert on this. She clutched the letter in her hands, her daughter's familiar handwriting had made her smile in the privacy of her bedroom.

"If she receives no answer, she'll know she is not invited. Downton Abbey is not her home, nor is it a place she can return to at her choosing. Mary needs to learn that there are consequences for her vulgar actions, and in this case, exile is the consequence. She should be grateful that I have allowed her to remain in England."

Cora opened her mouth to speak, but Robert took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"You know that I'm right," he said softly. "We must put the family's honour first, not just for Downton but for the sake of our other daughters. These are delicate times with the new heir coming. I can't have Mary here, arguing with him and with me day and night, to say nothing of whether she might create another scandal. No, she can't distract me asking for compassion. I must remain firm, and she must remain away."

Robert took his wife's silence as agreement. He pecked her on the cheek and released her hand, walking away without further comment on the subject.

Cora watched him go, his shoulders set and his back rigid. All this time and Robert still did not understand their eldest daughter. Mary had not asked for his compassion, nor his permission to come back. Her letter was clear, a signal to her family – she was coming, and she did not give a fig what anyone thought about it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, September 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Dessert fork," Mary announced.<p>

Matthew reached for the fork sitting above his plate.

"No," Mary shook her head. "With your left hand."

Matthew sighed in exasperation and began again.

"And when you're finished?" Mary asked.

Matthew placed his fork down on his plate.

"No," Mary shook head.

Matthew frowned, then shook his head in frustration. He reached over and turned his fork prong side down.

"Better. At least you know the answer. You just don't know it right away," Mary smiled.

"I can't believe that I'm a grown man and, according to some people, I barely know the proper fork to use at dinner," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"If you think that's strange, imagine my shock that I've married such a man," Mary laughed, coming over and massaging his shoulders.

"Can we take a break, please?" he muttered. "My etiquette and my ego have taken a sufficient bruising for now."

"And what did you have in mind to pass the time?" Mary asked.

"Sadly, nothing so bold," Matthew said, rising from his chair and kissing her lightly. "Davis said the papers for the sale of the house arrived. I just need to review them and sign them."

They walked from the table to the desk. Matthew moved some boxes aside to clear space, then grabbed the envelope that Davis had brought to the library earlier.

"I'm so sorry that you're selling your house," Mary shook her head. "I was truly looking forward to living there."

"Our house," Matthew nodded. "I was looking forward to seeing you run the place. It would have been a sanctuary for friends and family, the venue for Manchester's most talked about parties."

Mary smiled kindly.

"Anyway, we don't need it, so it makes no sense to hang on to it. Even if we were ever to return here, this house is big enough for all of us," Matthew said.

Mary smiled amusedly.

"What?" Matthew smiled.

"Oh, it's nothing, darling," Mary chuckled. "I just wonder if you and your mother are truly ready for what you will encounter at Downton."

"Hardly," Matthew smiled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, please do not misunderstand me. Your parents' home is lovely. I've never felt more welcome in any house. But Downton Abbey is…bigger."

"It's a country estate, I know," Matthew said.

"No, Matthew," Mary grinned despite herself. "It's much bigger than you can imagine, I expect."

"How so?" Matthew furrowed his brow. "You know how vivid my imagination can be."

"When it comes to me, yes," Mary blushed. "But I doubt you have ever imagined a place like Downton."

"Oh come on, Mary," Matthew rolled his eyes. "Just because we're from Manchester doesn't mean we live in wigwams. How big could it be, truly? How many rooms are there? 50?"

Mary smiled to herself. "80."

"80?" Matthew said, his eyes widening in surprise. "Well, I suppose when you add servants' quarters and kitchens and so forth, that can add up."

"No, darling, not 80 rooms. 80 bedrooms," Mary smiled.

"80 bedrooms?" Matthew exclaimed. "But then, how many rooms are there?"

"No one knows for sure. There have been so many renovations over the centuries. The family doesn't use the entire house, of course. But the actual number is at least 200, but may be closer to 300," Mary said.

"You can't be serious," Matthew shook his head.

"Oh, but I am," Mary chuckled.

"Then why would your father be opposed to me living at Downton Abbey instead of Crawley House? He could go weeks without even knowing I was there," Matthew asked.

"It's a display of power, Matthew," Mary shook her head. "He wants to show you that you're to do what he says, and live where he tells you to live. He was expecting that you would simply agree without question. But the idea makes no sense at all. Crawley House will suit your mother, but not a future Earl. I imagine that your last letter where you told him you would be moving into Downton Abbey while Isobel used Crawley House amused everyone, except for Papa."

"Well, if he only knew that I had my very own ghost writer; the real voice behind the letters," Matthew smiled.

"I only made some suggestions," Mary said, her tone feigning that of a haughty and defensive woman; "You are your own man."

"And what about your letters? How were they received?" Matthew asked.

"Mama hasn't written back, probably on instructions from Papa," Mary sighed. "I'm clearly not welcome."

Matthew hummed sympathetically. Even though Mary constantly said she didn't care about what her family thought of her, the truth was that a part of her still did.

"But," Mary said, her voice stronger. "Mama doesn't know that I also wrote to Granny. She sent a short note just this week. She will support my return, and she even hinted that she believed it was time to smash the entail."

"If only they knew that the heir presumptive will also vote in favour of you coming back," Matthew smiled.

"Well don't expect that voting on my side will endear you to me, Matthew," Mary teased. "When I arrive, we shall still be at odds, you know."

"Not behind closed doors, we won't be," Matthew shot back. Mary was pleased with his reaction. His melancholy and despair had lightened considerably since his birthday, and he was acting and sounding more like himself.

"Your Granny wouldn't have been spurred into action by the outrage of a certain nobody from Manchester asserting a claim to the Earldom, would she?" Matthew asked pointedly.

"Granny is entirely pragmatic," Mary said with a smile. "She couldn't do anything to save me from James and Patrick, but she wants to try and fight my corner against the usurper from the north."

"Well, if it's a barbarian that you want," Matthew said playfully.

"Matthew!" Mary hissed, glancing over to the open door.

"Mother is still at work, darling," Matthew said confidently. "And Davis knows very well to stay away when we're alone together in the house."

"Control yourself!" Mary scolded him, though her grin showed her true feelings. "We're staying over at the hotel next week. You'll have free reign over me then, not a moment sooner."

"Tormentor," Matthew growled, leering at her. "You're enjoying this!"

He got up from his chair, accidently knocking a book over as he rose. He rolled his eyes and retrieved it from the floor.

Mary laughed. "Now that, I did enjoy."

Matthew chuckled. "I'll have you know that you gave me this book," he said ruefully.

"Ah, Goethe," she smiled.

Matthew opened the book to the page marked with a ribbon and showed it to her.

"Ginkgo Biloba," Matthew read aloud.

"_Two which have decided that they should be as one,"_ Mary recited. "You know, I got the idea from this very library. "It was placed on the shelf next to some of your favourites, and so it stood out."

"This one is a much better edition. That one's worn out," Matthew smiled, glancing over at the shelf where his father's copy sat. "Although I think I liked your other gift better. Each of us keeping a gingko leaf as we go to Downton."

Mary smiled in acknowledgment. "It's as though we have a hidden secret that no one else knows about."

"We seem to have several," Matthew smiled, giving her a chaste kiss.

When he pulled back, Mary ran her hand across his shoulder. "Well, shall we continue?"

"Excuse me, sir," Davis called from the door.

"Yes, Davis?" Matthew asked, turning around as Mary discreetly stepped away from him to a respectful distance.

"Your…package has arrived, sir," Davis said.

Matthew's eyes lit up. "Has it been assembled, Davis?"

"Yes, sir. It's waiting for you behind the house."

"Thank you, Davis," Matthew nodded.

He turned to Mary and offered her his arm.

"Matthew?" she frowned in confusion. "What is this?"

"I have a lesson of my own now, Mary," he smiled.

She took his arm and followed him out the library and through the house. Mary grew more curious as they reached the back door. Guiding her out to the porch, Matthew took her through the gate and into the private lane that ran behind the house.

"Well," he said as they came to a stop just beside the house. "What do you think?"

She stared at the contraption that was perched against the fence. She was at a loss for words for one of the rare times in her life.

"Brand new 1913 Model No. 2 Lady's Special Premier," Matthew said, casting his arm in the direction of the new bicycle.

"All right," Mary said softly. "And what is it doing here?"

Matthew chuckled, "I'm going to even the score," he said mischievously.

"I'm not sure I want to know what you mean about that," Mary said as he leaned over and pecked her affectionately on the cheek.

"You are teaching me things that I need to know for our coming venture. But, I desire to teach you something too."

Mary rolled her eyes at his beaming grin but did not resist when he put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.

"Do you like the bicycle?" He asked eagerly.

"It is the nicest bicycle anyone has ever given me," Mary stated frankly, rolling her eyes.

"Don't worry about anything," Matthew said, "My father taught me it is all about momentum, and that my dear you have in spades."

Mary never imagined having to learn to ride a bicycle, or any scenario where she would actually use such a skill. However, Matthew was right in that today and the days ahead were all about learning new lessons, and so she decided to move forward with her husband in this curious task.

"I think that mastering your riding skills on a horse would be more productive," she teased as he brought the bicycle over and held it steady in front of her.

"Forget Downton for a moment, darling," Matthew smiled. "Let's just have some fun."

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England<strong>__**, September 1913**_

* * *

><p>"Have you shared the news of your coming liberation with Lady Philomena and Lord Merton?" Matthew smiled, watching Mary rub cream into her hands.<p>

"Of course not," Mary huffed, rising from the vanity and coming over to him, a playful look on her face. "I don't think I've said two words to that woman in the past three months or longer. As for Lord Merton, telling him anything is as good as telling Papa directly, and I wouldn't want that."

Matthew chuckled as she came to bed and kissed him softly.

"I'll pack my things and leave when she's out at one of her appointments. With any luck, I'll be in Yorkshire before Lord Merton is alerted I'm gone," Mary smiled.

"Well, you have become rather adept at slipping in and out of homes, darling," Matthew laughed.

"All for your benefit, thank you," Mary rolled her eyes. "Do not make me sound like a vagabond or a squatter, Matthew."

"Are you looking forward to being back in your home?" he asked, pulling her close to him.

"I'm looking forward to all sort of things," she quirked her eyebrow, then kissed him again, her tongue meeting his playfully. She slapped at his hands as they moved towards her breasts.

"Patience, darling," she drawled. "This is our last evening here. I want to enjoy it."

"I thought that was my intention," Matthew said.

"Matthew," she scolded him lightly. "What I meant was this will be our last night together for some time, our last evening as proper husband and wife."

Matthew's head dropped.

"I know," he admitted. "I still don't understand it, but I know."

"I already told you. You can blame my grandfather, or perhaps his grandfather," Mary sighed, running her hand up and down his bare arm. "They shared the same archaic view of women and the same paranoia – a dangerous mix."

"I'll need to see this damn document for myself the moment I arrive," Matthew said fiercely. "To have the gall to play with people's lives like that…I understand why your grandfather had your mama agree to bind her money to the Estate. As unfair as that is, it would ensure the survival of the Earldom. The other things though, it's reprehensible." Matthew shook his head.

"Well you can thank Grandpapa for one thing," Mary smiled. "Papa will be forced to work hand-in-hand with you, just as he did with Cousin James to my detriment. And that shall be the weapon that you can use against him."

"Ironic, isn't it?" Matthew smiled, leaning over and kissing her neck. "That the instrument used against you will now be wielded to resurrect you?"

"It would be poetic if not for the other thing," Mary sighed, patting her husband's back to calm his passion momentarily.

Matthew felt his heartbeat increase as he felt violent rage. The law was supposed to help people. That was at least what he had always believed about his occupation as a solicitor. But, he had been wrong; he had been living in a dream. When manipulated, the law could be damaging and hurtful apparently, or so the Earls of Grantham had thought anyway.

"So," Matthew spat incredulously, "Your grandfather did not care if the heir to the Earl of Grantham slept with as many whores and strumpets as he could find, but the moment that marriage was contemplated, his bride had to be a pure virgin?"

"Of course," Mary replied. "Men are allowed such indulgences without consequence, even after they marry. Grandfather knew as well as anyone that marriage is a long business for our sort of people. To have the Countess of Grantham exposed as a fallen woman, or to have her escapades and scandals revealed would be a blight on the family reputation. So, he made sure that would not happen without severe consequences."

"I still don't see why I can't just refuse to abide by it?" Matthew demanded. "Why can't I just march into Downton Abbey and declare you as my wife? I'll tell your Papa proudly that I'm setting a new standard, beginning a new era."

"No," Mary said gently. "You," she paused, "We," she said confidently, "would ruin everything. You can't ignore the terms of the entail, Matthew, and you can't unilaterally change it at your own whim. Papa would force you to divorce me, and they'd send me away again. We'd be right back here, which would defeat the entire purpose of going back to Downton in the first place," Mary said, looking into his eyes. "I'm still not entirely sure about your plan, but we shouldn't do anything to cripple ourselves before it even begins."

"Mary, I don't care about any of that," Matthew said, gently tugging her face back towards his. "You're not a harlot. What some old booby in London says about what you've done means nothing to me."

"I know," Mary smiled bravely. "But even you can't erase what happened that night. You'll see. Papa, Mama, even Edith. Every time they look at me, they'll see a slut who took a Turk of all people as a lover."

"But you didn't!" Matthew roared. "It was Patrick that…"

"Shh," Mary hissed. "I don't want to hear his name. Please, Matthew. I agreed to your plan because I love you. I decided to go back to Downton because you asked me to. The only way that any of this has a chance of working is if you follow my advice. You know why I never had our wedding announced or published. I would have screamed it from the rooftops if I could have, but my reputation would have stained you. Clients and your partners would have abandoned you. Now that you're in line to be the next Earl of Grantham, what people think of me is even more dangerous for you. They would make things impossible for you if it was known that you're my husband."

"But, I am your husband!" Matthew almost shouted. "I agreed to keep our marriage private because I don't need an announcement in the papers or even a license to tell me that you're my wife. But when we go to Downton, Mary, when I see the way they'll treat you, how can I hold back? I'm a terrible liar as you've told me countless times."

"You'll have to try, for me," Mary smiled. "It's the only way."

"I love you, Mary," Matthew said desperately. "I didn't think it was possible to love the way that I love you. I'll do what you ask. But when I destroy that damn entail, I will not be restrained for one more second."

"When you destroy the entail," Mary smiled, moving closer to him. "I'll be so happy that you can carry me upstairs naked, regardless of whether Papa minds or not."

"Be careful, I may try it," Matthew arched his eyebrows.

He leaned forward and kissed her softly.

She smiled against his lips and fell back on to the bed, bringing him with her. His hand moved across her shoulder and pulled the strap of her nightgown down her arm, his lips caressing her skin as it was revealed to him.  
>"Matthew," Mary gasped in pleasure. "This won't be our last night together, but what if it was?"<p>

Matthew raised his head from her breast and looked at her in alarm. Her eyes were bright; her lips curled in a mischievous smirk.

"Don't play with me," Matthew said thickly. "I don't deserve it. Not from you."

"What if tonight was the last time you could touch me like this?" Mary continued, her body warming in anticipation as she watched his face darken with lust at hearing her scandalous words.

"What if tonight was the last time you could ever be inside of me, Matthew?" she hissed wickedly.

Mary gasped as Matthew pulled at her nightgown; the thin garment falling down her arms and chest and pooling at her hips. Her husband's bare chest covered hers; his skin warm against her breasts, his length pressing insistently along her thigh.

"Then I would make it impossible for you to erase this moment from your memory, Mary," Matthew growled before he captured her mouth and hooked her leg across his hip.


	15. Chapter 15

_**The Midland Hotel, Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, October 1913**_

* * *

><p>"You never wake up before I do."<p>

His voice is a cross between a mumble and a slurred statement and it makes her smile and look over at him. His hair is across his forehead and there's a layer of stubble that frames the cheeky smile that adorns his face. His eyes are closed, and she's thankful for that, as she knows the moment he opens them, there's a very good chance she'll be naked and on top of him before he uses that low tone of voice that always makes her knees buckle.

But there's no time for any of that anymore.

"I suppose it's a comment on which one of us was more tired from last night," she teases. He's lying underneath the bedcovers and she's sitting on top of them, but it's hardly a defence. Cotton sheets are no match for a randy Matthew Crawley.

"That's strange, because by my count, you should be knocked out for hours yet," comes the instant reply and she expects he'll open his eyes soon, because she's blushing fiercely and he loves to make her blush.

"Didn't you know, darling? One of the keys to a happy marriage is to never keep score," she throws back, knowing her face is a shade of pink by now.

He stretches his legs and the movement under the blankets draws her attention.

"I believe that is in reference to who wins more arguments," he says easily, his eyes still closed as he turns on to his front, his arms folding under the pillow. "And I conceded that battle before we were even married. As for the number that I'm referring to, I'll keep counting the times as long as they are in my favour."

She laughs, unable to keep her composure any longer. He joins her, chuckling at the pleasant sound. A year a half ago she was banished by her family, sent away from Downton Abbey in shame and scandal. A year and a half ago she was thrown into a strange house by her Godfather, forced to go to work, of all things, and met Matthew for the first time. A year and a half ago, she thought she would never see Yorkshire ever again. Now, she's in bed with a naked man who happens to be her husband and is about to return to Downton Abbey. She stopped contemplating how ridiculous it all seemed ages ago.

"What?" Matthew asks, his eyes now open, looking at her curiously. "What are you contemplating in that gorgeous head of yours?"

"Stop it," she frowns, but then offers him a teasing smile. "I need to go pack my things and prepare for my departure, and so do you."

"We don't leave for three days, yet, and Lady Philomena and her servants aren't due back until tomorrow," he says. "And this room is paid for until this afternoon."

"Matthew!" she scolds him. "Haven't you had enough?"

"Of you?" he laughs incredulously. His arm is moving beneath the blankets towards her and she squeals, moving back slightly.

"What happened to all your poetic words last night about it being our last time together and how precious it was?" Mary asks, speaking quickly as she can feel him rousing to wakefulness.

"Every time with you is precious, Mary," he says. "Which is why I need to collect as many as possible."

"Matthew!" she protests merrily, her hands on his chest as he pounces over her, kissing her neck, his hands trailing down her sides and cupping her bottom through her silk robe. "Stop! I'm still sore from last night!"

He groans and it sounds adorable to her ears. He stills on top of her, still pressing light kisses to her lips and cheek, holding her in an embrace now as he settles in the crook of her shoulder.

"Truthfully, so am I," he admits, causing her to smile wider. "But please, just stay a while longer. We don't have to do anything. Just stay with me, Mary."

"All right," she accepts, stroking her fingers through his hair and returning his kisses. "I suppose that I could take my bath here."

"A wonderful idea," Matthew grins and she can read his thoughts as if he were reciting them aloud.

"We are not bathing together unless you swear that you will not try to seduce me," she says firmly. "Matthew, in three days we aren't supposed to know each other. You'll do a horrible job of that if you can't keep your hands off me for a few hours."

"I'm quite certain that my hands were not the only ones that were active last night," Matthew replies, undeterred. "Or earlier this morning."

Mary doesn't bother replying. She simply shakes her head and holds him closer. A contented hum escapes her lips and she glances up at the chandelier above their bed, visions of their life in Manchester flying through her mind as they stand on the verge of leaving, possibly forever.

"I still wonder if we're not better off leaving things as they are," she says.

"Mmm," Matthew replies, his eyes closed, his lips still pressed lightly to her neck. "We do have a lovely life here, don't we?"

"We do," Mary nods. "That was what my old life was all about – constantly trying to get more – more money, more attention, more prestige, more of everything. Regardless of what's right or wrong and the great matter and all of the rest of it, I wonder if we're being foolish to risk this for something so uncertain as a life at Downton."

"Well, that would depend on what you consider a risk, I suppose," Matthew says lazily.

"What do you mean?" she frowns. "Of course it's a risk. We could lose everything."

Matthew rises up slightly. He brushes some of her hair back from her face and smiles at her, his blue eyes catching some of the early morning sunlight creeping across the room.

"Darling, we won't lose everything," he nods. "If we are found out, if we fail, if the world rises up against us and we are forsaken, we still won't lose anything of value. We are happy here, of course, and it's a lovely life and many would envy us for it, but there's another life for you, Mary, and I want to try to give it to you. And if it all goes pear shaped, we'll still be together and we'll build another life someplace else. So, there really is no risk at all. Nothing can separate us, truly. You're my wife. The rest is just detail."

He kisses her forehead, then turns away, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stretches out his arms and groans to wake himself, then moves to stand up.

His mouth falls open in shock as Mary walks by him completely naked on her way to the bathroom. He blinks, then follows her slowly, unable to stop himself from staring at her up and down.

"I said that we didn't have to do anything, Mary," he whispers as she bends over the bathtub and turns on the taps. He thinks fleetingly that he may need to let her bathe alone because the sight of her is about to make him come undone.

"Yes, you did," Mary says sultrily, looking back at him over her shoulder, which only serves to arouse him further. "But I never agreed, did I?"

His steps slowly towards the rapidly filling bathtub and the beautiful woman waiting for him.

He may need to ask that their check out time be extended even later.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, October 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>The motor meandered through the streets, the going slow as the road seemed to narrow in places and wind around buildings in others. Matthew peeked out the window and saw villagers going about their business. It was a calm and rather serene day, the sun was bright and warm and there was a pleasant late summer breeze in the air. Even the birds were singing, Matthew noted wryly. Where was he? It was though he had somehow left the train station and passed into a Trollope novel.<p>

The car shook slightly as it ran over another hole in the road. Matthew sighed audibly.

"These roads are terrible," he said as he leaned back in his seat. He was interrupted as another bump in the road made the car shake. "An abomination, really; in Manchester…"

"Although you would make your father rather proud with your admiration for our home, you're rather laying hard on my nerves with your complaining, dear," Isobel said patiently.

Matthew rubbed his brow and pursed his lips. He knew his mother was right. He also knew that his pique had nothing to do with the condition of the road. It had only been several hours since he had parted from Mary back in Manchester and he started missing her from the moment he boarded the train for London. He spent most of the journey to the capital and the transfer to York in a slight panic, knots churning around in his stomach. If he could barely spend a few hours apart from his wife then how in the world was he going to be indifferent to her once they both arrived at Downton Abbey? He didn't know what was more comical – their harebrained plan or the fact that she could still make him feel like a lovesick schoolboy almost two years into their marriage.

"Matthew, I know that you mean to evaluate everything about this place and your position here, but perhaps you could tone down you petulance around me, my dear boy," Isobel smiled.

Matthew gave her a wry smirk in apology.

"After all, I stopped having the responsibility to put up with these moods of yours some time ago. That's now entirely the duty of…" Isobel continued.

"Mother!" Matthew interjected, silencing her. He looked at her pointedly and motioned slightly with his head towards the driver in the front seat.

Isobel's eyes widened in understanding.

"Of…the rest of our new family," she nodded, saying nothing further.

Matthew reached out and patted her hand kindly. It was a lot to ask of his mother to play along with this elaborate scheme. Both of his parents were direct and to the point in everything they did. It was already an Augean task to ask them to hide their knowledge of Mary and Matthew's marriage when they were in Manchester, and accept that their son and his wife would be living apart. To now ask his mother to act as though Mary was merely a nurse's assistant she had met at the hospital a handful of times was quite unfair.

Before Matthew could turn his thoughts back to Mary, the car came to a stop in front of a stately house, with manicured landscaping and gardens, and even a quaint fence in front of it. It was just as Mary described. A home in the Village, but clearly not the same as the cottages they had passed. Matthew took a deep breath. They had undoubtedly reached Crawley House, and no matter Matthew's reservations, the curtain was now being raised.

"Ready, Matthew?" Isobel whispered as the driver got out to walk around to their door.

"Once more unto the breach," Matthew said under his breath.

The door swung open and the driver offered his hand to Isobel. She stepped out carefully and Matthew followed, standing tall and glancing over the property. It was a pleasant looking house, nothing like their home in Manchester, which invited hospitality. This place seemed more formal and detached, almost like a country inn that never changed regardless of who was living inside. Matthew smirked briefly. His mother would change that immediately. As this would be her abode, she would surely stamp her authority over it, and would make it warm and welcoming. Matthew hoped for as much at least. It would be good to have a refuge to escape to whenever living at Downton Abbey put his teeth on edge.

Matthew saw the luggage being unloaded and had to squeeze his hands together to fight the impulse to offer assistance.

"_You're going to be the Earl of Grantham, not some footman,_" Mary had scolded him lightly when she described circumstances where he must never do anything that would be beneath his new stature.

And so Matthew stood aside and watched. He put a hand on his mother's back to coax her forward when she gave numerous instructions regarding her parrot Abel and where the cage was to be placed in the house.

"Welcome to Crawley House," a deep voice intoned as they walked up the path. Matthew swallowed. The sharp eyes, the immaculate hair, the imposing form, and the hawkish nose. This was surely Carson. Matthew flicked his fingers, stilling the impulse to shake the man's hand. He wasn't supposed to know anything about the Crawley family butler, but regardless of Mary's kind words about Carson, it was clear from one glance at the man that he was the very definition of a butler. He exuded professionalism and authority, as though he could count any loose threads in Matthew's day suit and was filing the information away for later use.

"I am Carson, his Lordship's butler," Carson said by way of introduction. His lips formed a perfect line, but his eyes were gazing upon Matthew inquisitively. Matthew swallowed again.

"_It's true that I was terribly fond of him as a girl, and Carson once told me I was his favourite. But what he values most is everything in its place and he will be supremely critical of you, especially at first, given that you're showing up to take a position that he probably thinks should be mine. He wasn't very fond of Cousin James and Patrick at all, and I'd like to think he's still on my side. But he's loyal to Papa and to Downton, so he can't be brought into our confidence, no matter how strong an ally he would be,_" Mary said.

"_Won't he warm to me when he sees how kind I am to you? He can't just assume I'll be the same as Patrick just because I'm your father's heir!_"Matthew complained.

"_He's very set in his ways, darling. He'll need a lot of convincing. Words and platitudes will get you nowhere with him. You'll have to earn his respect through your deeds. So, when you first meet him, act aloof and put on airs. He'll be disappointed that Papa has endorsed you, which will make it easier for me to sway him to my side._"

Matthew stepped forward, his shoulders raised and his chest puffed out. He felt entirely ridiculous.

"Carson," he said haughtily. "You and the staff will address my mother as Mrs. Crawley. Where is the valet that is assigned to her? I shall need to evaluate him before I leave this house."

"Of course, sir. Mr. Moseley is just inside. The maid and cook hired for Mrs. Crawley should be by this afternoon."

"You can tell them to not bother showing up," Matthew said sharply. "My mother's maid and cook from Manchester will be arriving on the 3 o'clock train. Have a motor collect them and send word to me at Downton Abbey once they've arrived."

Carson arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Mr. Crawley, His Lordship has already gone to the trouble of hiring staff for Crawley House."

"His Lordship surely wants both myself and my mother to feel comfortable here, and the easiest way to achieve that is to have our staff from Manchester attend to her. Should there be a problem, I will discuss it with His Lordship, Carson, not with you," Matthew said dismissively.

"Of course, sir," Carson said tightly, nodding his head.

"I expected you would see reason. Now, let's go and meet your Molesley," Matthew continued. "I am quite interested to know what task has kept him so occupied that he did not come outside to greet us, as he ought to have."

Carson kept his lips tight together and went ahead to open the front door. Matthew ushered his mother forward, giving her a stern glare as she seemed ready to admonish him for his rude rebuke to the butler. He steeled himself as they walked into Crawley House, his heart rate spiralling despite his attempts to remain calm. If he was this nervous meeting Carson and Molesley, he would be an absolute wreck once he got to Downton Abbey. He desperately hoped that Mary was on her way.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Train Station, Ripon, Yorkshire, England, October 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary now owned a watch. The time piece was extremely utilitarian, just a piece of leather for the band and a small oval for the clockwork, and yet it was beautiful. It had been a gift from Dr. Crawley and Isobel. There had been no occasion; it was simply something she needed for her duties as a volunteer nurse. Mary had always allowed other people to instruct her during the day, she had never paid much attention to time. After she was exiled from Downton, when she arrived in Manchester; time had taken on a completely new meaning. At the hospital, it was measured precisely – the times when patients took their medications, when the nursing shifts were changed, or those frantic moments where hesitation could mean the loss of a life.<p>

Mary glanced at her watch as she walked out of the train station. If Matthew's train was on time, he would have reached Crawley House about an hour ago. It would not take too long for him to see Isobel settled. Though Mary suspected that her parents would want to send Edith or Sybil to welcome him and summon him to Downton Abbey for dinner, Mary told him to go to the big house as soon as it was practicable. Though they would be surprised that he took the initiative to go to them, her family would make do and spend time with him leading up to the ringing of the dressing gong. It was crucial that Matthew take them by surprise, and also that he be there in the afternoon.

Calculating how long she remembered the trip took from Ripon by motor, Mary looked about and settled upon a kind looking older man standing in front of his taxi cab. She approached him and nodded slightly.

"Good afternoon, Miss," he smiled, tipping his cap. "May I have the pleasure of transporting you somewhere today?"

"Please," Mary smiled politely. He held open the door for her, then assisted the porter to load her trunk in the boot of the taxi. He came around and settled into the driver's seat and looked back at her.

"And where shall we be going today, young lady?" he asked.

Mary smiled at the term he used for her. "Downton, please."

"Oh, Downton," the man frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, young lady, but you could have just stayed on the train. The next stop is Downton."

"It was getting too stuffy on board," Mary replied easily. "I thought I'd take a drive instead."

"And I am glad that you did," the driver nodded. He put the car in gear and eased away from the train station.

Mary watched as familiar buildings and streets passed. She thought of a similar ride, when Taylor drove her to the train station the last time she was in Yorkshire. She did not wish to risk running into anyone who may recognize her by riding the train all the way to Downton, and the ride from Ripon would give her the time to collect her thoughts.

"Where in the Village would you like me to deliver you, young lady?" the driver asked.

"I'm not going to the Village, actually. You can bring me to Downton Abbey," Mary said calmly.

"Oh, Downton Abbey!" the driver answered. "You must be going to some big affair that Lady Grantham is hosting, then?"

"It's more of a private party with a few select guests," Mary replied.

"Ah, I see," the driver said. "There's news that the new heir is coming to Yorkshire any day now. The next Lord Grantham he'll be. The house must be all abuzz at that."

"I expect so," Mary nodded, grateful the driver was watching the road and could not see her smirk. She glanced out the window as the landscape grew more familiar. The day of her return, the sun was shining.

"Suppose it's a good time to be visiting, then," the driver mused. "Maybe you'll get a chance to see the heir up close, be in the same room with the next Earl!"

Mary grinned. "Maybe," she said. "No matter what happens, I'm sure I'll remember this visit for a very long time."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, September 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I must apologize for Carson," Robert said easily. "Cora was going to have Edith come down and welcome you and your mother properly, invite you up to the house for dinner. There was no need for you to come up so soon after your arrival. I'm sure the trip was tiring for you."<p>

"Not at all," Matthew replied. "I was eager to get here, to see my new home. Once I was satisfied that Mother was settled, I wanted to come up immediately."

"Well, you're here," Robert smiled. "Before I show you the paintings, you must allow me to offer you a fitting libation."

Robert stopped at the bar, a bounty of promising liquors, many obviously expensive, stood before him. He swept his hand across the array, turning to Matthew for his order.

Matthew took his time perusing the drinks, Mary's instructions again ringing in his mind.

"Do you have any Elderberry wine?" he asked nonchalantly.

"A fine choice," Robert smiled, turning and pouring two glasses. "You know, elderberries have grown on the grounds for over a century. We send a few shipments each year to friends of mine in the winemaking business. I've always been told that the stock is so good we should consider harvesting and selling more, but you know that strikes me as a bit too commercial. I like keeping parts of Downton just for us."

"It's as if it's our own little secret," Matthew said, taking a sip of the wine. He already knew all about the elderberries. Mary had told him, and instructed him to ask about the wine, knowing it would endear Matthew to her father and also make him appear a bit uninformed, which she knew Lord Grantham would enjoy as well.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Robert smiled, pleased at the comment. After an hour of touring the house with his new heir, Lord Grantham had to admit that he was enjoying the young man's company. He was intelligent and thoughtful, and displayed none of the tendencies that Lord Merton had warned him about. Of course, he was rather simple judging by his suit, and there was much he needed to learn, but Robert liked that. Unlike James and Patrick, Matthew Crawley was a clean slate, and Robert had plenty to write.

"And now on to the portraits of our ancestors," Robert said eagerly. "You must make their acquaintance."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to seeing the first Earl especially," Matthew said jovially. "I've read his name was Daniel and so I feel I am in good company."

Robert was silent at this remark, the meaning lost on him.

"In what way?" he asked carefully.

"Daniel," Matthew explained. "Meaning _God is my judge_, whereas my own name means _gift of God_. It seems confirmation after all that we are related."

"That's a bit of a stretch, Matthew, wouldn't you say?" Robert smirked. "It isn't particularly important what anyone's name is, compared to the value of one's title."

Matthew remained quiet, the Earl's words shocking him.

"Well, then I guess it is fortunate that all of us will have one of those as well," he remarked.

Robert looked at Matthew inquisitively as they walked. No, his heir had not yet shown any stubbornness or wilfulness, but he did have a strange manner about him, an odd air. Robert decided it was due to him being in a new environment. This wasn't his class, and there was very little about Downton Abbey that he could possibly relate to. The young man's mind was probably swimming with the elegance of the place. Robert smiled to himself as they continued on. He sometimes forgot how impressive Downton could be to someone who hadn't lived here his entire life.

"I know that your mother accompanied you here, and I am looking forward to introducing her to the rest of the family," Robert said. "But what about any other of your relations? Aunts, uncles, cousins? Perhaps we should organize something for them to come down as well, to see the new life that you've been given."

"Both of my parents had very small families, actually," Matthew replied. "There are cousins on my mother's side, and no one else on my father's side, at least no one that you don't already know anyway."

"I see," Robert nodded. "And what about you, Matthew? I expect it was hard for you to say goodbye to your friends and colleagues in Manchester? I regret uprooting you, but there was really no alternative."

"You gave me enough time to get my affairs in order," Matthew nodded. "My old law firm was sorry to see me go, but we were only work colleagues in the end. We didn't socialize outside of the office."

"That's probably wise," Robert smiled. "You'll find that keeping up with Society can take a substantial amount of effort."

Matthew nodded politely.

"And do you have anyone special back in Manchester?" Robert asked awkwardly.

"No," Matthew answered. "I was rather busy with work and trying to make a name for myself at my law firm. There wasn't much time for…romance."

"Ah," Robert said. Well, at least Lord Merton had gotten something right. Apparently his comment that Matthew went to the office and went straight home afterward was accurate.

Robert smiled as they reached the gallery. "I'll be able to show you the Third Earl, from whom we are related," he said. "It's curious, isn't it? How the discovery of a distant ancestor can change one's fate?"

Matthew nodded. "Ever since Lord Merton gave my father the news of our new family, I've been trying to learn more about our ancestor. Actually, I was able to find a family heirloom that my father was given many years ago, and to which he only recently found out the significance."

Matthew reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a small box. He opened it, showing Robert a gold signet ring.

"This belonged to the first Earl Daniel's third son, my grandfather Lionel's great-grandfather. My father always kept it as it is inscribed with the Crawley family motto, _omnia mutantur, nihil interit_. He didn't know it's true provenance."

Matthew held up the ring and offered it to Robert for inspection. He could see the Earl's attention was engaged as his fingers traced over the fine engraving. Matthew would of course not tell Robert that his father had _never_ worn the ring; in fact he had not cared at all about its significance. It had been Mary's idea to see if they could find something that would link their different worlds together, and his mother's carefully labelled and arranged attic that had made it possible. Matthew had to force himself not to smile as he pictured how much amusement this scene would have offered his father, not to mention Mary.

"_Everything changes, nothing perishes_," Robert said as he translated the engraving. "That is a very old Crawley motto, we've used different creeds lately, but I recognize the original. I'm pleased that you take your family history so seriously." He offered the ring back.

"Keep it, Lord Grantham," Matthew nodded respectfully. "It should be yours now, as it truly belongs here at Downton Abbey, among all the past Earls."

Matthew's stomach churned with the effort it took not to grimace at his own platitudes. He didn't know what was worse – appearing to be so ingratiating to Lord Grantham, or the fact that, as Mary predicted, the Earl was eating it all up voraciously.

"_My father cannot accept a gift. Even during birthdays and anniversaries while he would expect us to organize a party he wanted no tokens of the day itself. I used to think it was a sign of humility and I admired it. However, I wonder now if it's not because he hates the idea of being beholden to anyone, that he will need to reciprocate in turn at some point in the future. Papa hates to be in anyone's debt, and would avoid owing you anything as you're his heir and should only be grateful to him. So, let's give him this ring and see how he reacts to you." _

"I couldn't possibly accept this ring from you," Robert shook his head vigorously. "Although, if you wish, we could display it here when we have parties and the like. It would make an interesting conversation piece I think, and it would be understood that it belongs to you and will stay with you."

"I'd rather it be known as belonging to the family," Matthew said.

"No," Robert answered rather sharply. "My mind is quite made up," he handed the ring back to Matthew. "I could never take something so precious to you, something that reminds you of your father, who is now gone; it is only right that you should keep it. After all, I own everything else around here. You can keep that ring."

Matthew accepted the ring back and replaced it in his pocket.

"Thank you, my Lord," he replied.

Robert nodded as they stopped in front of the painting of the First Earl.

"Please, Matthew, you must call me Robert," he said. "You are my heir, after all. There are many people who do not use my title who should, but I think I can allow you this perk of not having to be so formal."

"Very well, Robert," Matthew said with some hesitation.

"Now, let me present to you the First Earl," Robert said raising his hand towards the portrait.

* * *

><p>"Have you seen the new heir?" Sybil asked.<p>

"You know that I haven't," Edith replied in a bored tone. "I've been home all afternoon."

"I thought you were supposed to go summon him here for dinner?" Sybil said in confusion.

"I was, but before the time came for me to leave, Mama came running in and said he'd come up to the house already. That's why we're up here. We're not to see him while he's walking around with Papa, and we'll all meet him at the same time before dinner," Edith explained.

"I hope he's nice, and pleasant to talk to," Sybil sighed.

"What does it matter?" Edith said. "How much talking did you ever do with Cousin James and Cousin Patrick?"

"I know that you spoke to Cousin Patrick quite often," Sybil retorted. "I just want him to be interesting. He's going to be living here and we'll be seeing a lot of him. It would help if he wasn't entirely boring."

"He's from Manchester, Sybil," Edith rolled her eyes as she put her book down. "How interesting could he be?"

"I don't know. Manchester is bigger than Downton, anyway," Sybil said. "I can't help thinking that for the first while that Cousin Matthew is here, I'll be thinking about Mary."

"Sybil, not again," Edith rolled her eyes.

"How can you be so heartless?" Sybil frowned. "I know that the two of you rarely got along, but she's still our sister, Edith!"

"Sybil, it's time that you realized that we'll never see Mary ever again," Edith said patiently. "I will admit that it's not what I want, and I still feel terrible over the way that Mary was sent away, but Papa won't allow any of us to contact her again, Sybil. Your writing to her was already bad enough, and now Papa won't even permit that."

"I just miss her so much," Sybil said quietly. "Do you think that Cousin Matthew would ever invite her back when he becomes the Earl?"

"Sybil, that could be decades from now," Edith shook her head. "And why would Cousin Matthew even entertain the thought? He doesn't know Mary, and he has no reason to want her here."

"I don't care how long it takes," Sybil said firmly. "I'll see Mary back here one day, mark my words."

"Don't hold your breath over it," Edith said. "Besides, Mary's living in Manchester now. She has a life there, Sybil. Who knows where she'll be or if we'll even know how to reach her years from now?"

Sybil huffed in exasperation. She got up from her bed and went over to her window. She looked out on to the grounds below. The weather had been somewhat overcast and cold the past days, but the sun was out now, brilliant and bright.

"Was Taylor sent to fetch Granny?" Sybil asked.

"No, Granny's been here since luncheon," Edith said. "With our having dinner with the new heir, she didn't see the purpose of going home and coming back."

"Ah," Sybil said, frowning as she looked into the distance. "Is there anyone else coming to dinner then?"

"Not that I know of," Edith replied. "It's just the family. Why?"

"Well, there's a taxi coming down the driveway," Sybil noted.

"A taxi? Why would anyone invited to dinner need a taxi?" Edith asked.

"I don't know," Sybil said. "Let's go and see. I'm tired of staying up here."

"Mama said we're to stay here and wait for the gong," Edith said. "She doesn't want us to see Cousin Matthew before dinner."

"Well if I see him, I'll turn away," Sybil declared. "Come on, Edith."

"If anyone asks, I'll say it was your idea," Edith smiled, getting up and taking her younger sister's arm as they left the room.

* * *

><p>Mary did not know what to expect to see when the taxi turned on to the familiar long driveway. Though she'd be gone for nearly two years, little if anything, would have changed about the estate's grounds. She saw glimpses of the vast fields, the tall trees and of course the big house rising as they approached. She was filled with a desire to sneak over to the stables and saddle Diamond, taking her horse out across the grounds and reacquainting herself with the Temple of Diana and the other follies and landmarks across the lands, the lands she had grown up on. Despite how horrible her banishment had been, she did not feel any resentment upon seeing Downton Abbey. It was not the house or the grounds that had hurt her.<p>

Her pulse quickened as more of the home came into view the closer they approached. She still carried scars from what happened to her here. She knew out of her family, only Sybil and her Granny would be happy to see her. She expected Carson to be stoic as always but to be glad she was back. But, what about the others? Mrs. Hughes thought she was spoiled before. Would the circumstances of her departure have changed that? Would Anna be glad for her return, or would she see it as an imposition, another drain on her time?

Truthfully, Mary was somewhat worried she would be able to resume her old manner as well. She knew her time in Manchester had an effect on her, but it was more than that. It was Matthew. Matthew had changed her. His love. His support. There were parts to her history at Downton Abbey that she hadn't told him, that she was not very proud of. Would she slip back into those old habits now that she was here? She had warned him that she would be somewhat insufferable as part of their act, but would it be entirely an act if she carried herself in the way she had before?

Mary carried scars from her past, and by returning here, she was about to reopen them.

_"Scars are beautiful," _Dr. Crawley had once told her in the earliest days of their acquaintance_._

_"I know that sounds odd. But, a scar is more than an ugly and offensive jagged blemish on our flesh. It is proof of victory. A scar signifies something that happened to us, but that we overcame and persevered through. It is a mark that this person can't be taken for granted, that this person is a survivor. The scar tells that story. It should be cherished; at least that is my outlook."_

Mary brushed her fingers at her moist eyes. Sentimentally was no longer permitted and she quickly composed herself. The best tribute she could make to her father-in-law was to support Matthew in his plan and play her role. If they were successful, she envisioned going back to Manchester and visiting Dr. Crawley's grave, telling him all about the adventures that she, Matthew and Isobel had in Yorkshire, and assuring him that Matthew had kept his promise, and she had been restored.

Mary watched Downton Abbey now loom in front of the taxi. She was far from religious, but she still believed that Dr. Crawley was watching over her and Matthew, and he was, like them, anticipating what was to come.

* * *

><p>"Test the soup again," Mrs. Patmore snarled at Daisy. "The last thing we want is for the heir presumptive to think we can't flavour a soup right."<p>

"Mrs. Patmore seems a bit on edge," Bates smiled, sipping his coffee.

"You know how she gets when a distinguished visitor comes to eat," Anna smiled at him. "And this one's here to stay."

"Then she shouldn't worry. Even if the soup is no good, she'll have plenty more chances to make it better," Bates said.

"Has His Lordship told you who will be taking care of Mr. Crawley?" Anna asked.

"I assume it'll be Thomas," Bates replied. "Thomas will probably try to stick him with me so he can move in on His Lordship."

"But you won't allow that, will you?" Anna frowned.

"If I'm honest, I probably wouldn't mind," Bates admitted. "He'll be the next Earl of Grantham. I'm grateful for His Lordship's loyalty and generosity, but I can't exactly complain if I'm assigned to his heir, now, can I?"

Mrs. Hughes came into the kitchen, glanced around quickly, then approached them.

"Ah, Mr. Bates, Anna," she nodded. "You can both go up. Her Ladyship wants everything to go perfectly this evening, and so you'll both need to get His Lordship and Lady Edith and Lady Sybil ready as quick as you can. You can wait in the Great Hall and when the gong sounds, go right up."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Anna nodded. She walked towards the stairs.

Bates finished his coffee and put it down on the table. He followed after Anna, trying not to be too obvious as he watched her hips sway as she walked up the stairs ahead of him.

* * *

><p>"My Lady, begging your pardon."<p>

"Yes, O'Brien? What is it?" Cora asked, looking over her earrings.

"It's Lady Edith and Lady Sybil, my Lady," O'Brien said. "I saw them heading towards the stairs as I was carrying the clean towels to Your Ladyship's bathroom."

"What? But I told them to stay upstairs while His Lordship gave Cousin Matthew the tour of the house," Cora frowned.

"Yes, my Lady. It seems they found a reason to go downstairs. I thought you'd like to know."

"Thank you, O'Brien," Cora sighed, rising from her vanity and walking towards the door. "I'll go a fetch them before my husband discovers they've been let loose."

* * *

><p>Matthew looked at the clock on the fireplace mantle. Mary told him that the dressing gong was rang precisely at six o'clock each evening. It was now half past five and there was no sign of her. If she didn't arrive before he was forced to go up and change, then there was a risk that Robert could intercept her before he came back down. Matthew needed to be present when Mary surprised everyone. If she was early, that was fine as Matthew was with Robert. Even if she was late, as long as Matthew was at the dinner table with the rest of the family, he could protect her. But if she arrived outside of those times, their plan would be off to a howling start.<p>

"Any questions, Matthew?" Robert asked. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"I'm quite impressed," Matthew nodded. "I was actually wondering if I might see a copy of the entail at some point."

"Ah, of course," Robert said. "I was going to say there was no point boring yourself with the minutiae of it, but of course, you're lawyer. I'm sure you're used to such documents."

"A small bit, yes," Matthew said carefully. "I admit that it's in my nature to want to read everything whenever there is such an instrument involved. The duties and obligations given to us can depend greatly on the precise word used."

"You want to be sure that you're truly inheriting all of this and not just a pig farm," Robert chuckled.

"I'm sorry, Robert," Matthew held up his hands. "I meant no offence."

"And none was taken, Matthew," Robert smiled. "You can see the entail soon. But, for now I hope you can be content if I show you the library."

Matthew smiled as Robert escorted them out of the room. They would need to cross the Great Hall to get to the library. At worst, Matthew would be within earshot and standing close to Robert when Mary arrived. Now she just had to get here, he thought worriedly.

* * *

><p>"I understand that you had a young woman under your direction," Violet said. "My granddaughter, Lady Mary."<p>

"Mary is your granddaughter?" Isobel asked. "Oh! From Yorkshire, of course!"

Violet looked at Isobel curiously.

"I'm sorry, Cousin Violet. I never knew that Mary was part of your family, you see. The patron for our hospital, Lord Merton, told Matthew several months ago that Mary was from Yorkshire, but we were never told anything else about her."

"Well I suppose the opportunity never presented itself," Violet smiled politely. "And Mary never spoke of us?"

"No," Isobel shook her head. "I like to give my staff as much freedom as possible. If they wish to confide in me, they are welcome to, but we are colleagues more than friends. Mary never volunteered any information, and I never asked."

"Ah," Violet nodded.

Isobel sipped her tea. While there was a strange sense of fun at play acting and reciting the lines that Matthew and Mary had taught her, Isobel still found it a bit tiring to keep the stories straight between the script that she was to recite and the true story that she already knew.

"Did Matthew ever have reason to come visit you at the hospital? Did he ever meet Mary?" Isobel asked.

"Matthew came by the hospital almost every day; he was very close to his father. The three of us would often walk home together," Isobel said. "But I don't think he ever saw Mary. I don't remember introducing them. I believe the first time he ever met her was at my husband's funeral, and that was not a meeting in any event. I told him to go fetch her as I needed to give her instructions for some patients."

"So Mary has never met Matthew before," Violet said. "A strange world, isn't it? Being so close to someone each day and not even knowing you're related?"

"Well, Mary would be Matthew's fourth cousin," Isobel said. "That's hardly a relation, is it?"

"No, I suppose that in practice, it isn't," Violet said.

"Carson, are we expecting anyone? It appears that there's a motor coming up the lane," Violet frowned, glancing out the window.

"Not that I am aware of, my Lady," Carson frowned, looking out the window himself.

Isobel silently said a small prayer of thanks. Mary had arrived, and not a moment too soon from the looks of it.

"Cousin Violet, would you mind if we took a short walk? I'm afraid I have a hard time staying seated for an extended period and I'll need to stretch my legs a bit if I'm to make it through dinner," Isobel smiled.

"Certainly!" Violet nodded. "A quick stroll would do us both well."

Isobel followed Carson and the Dowager Countess towards the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>"Here we are, young lady," the driver announced. "Downton Abbey".<p>

Mary paid the man and quickly exited from the taxi. She checked her watch again and hoped that the dining schedule had not changed in the time she'd been away. The dressing gong would not have sounded yet, but the servants would all be scrambling to prepare for Matthew's welcome dinner. This would hopefully allow Mary to get past whoever answered the door without having to face Carson. Though she cared for the butler, she knew that Carson would follow her Papa's direction and would likely try and keep her stuck in the Great Hall while Lord Grantham was summoned. She needed to have free reign over the house to be able to reach Matthew, wherever he was.

The driver removed her trunk and placed it on the ground. She thanked him and watched as he drove off slowly, the gravel spinning slightly under the wheels of the taxi. Mary didn't look up at the house right away. Instead, her eyes were drawn to her trunk. Everything she owned that was important to her fit into this one large box. The clothes that she had rarely worn in Manchester might be useful once again; and there were the new outfits she had selected, or had been given by Matthew. Her sentimental presents were tucked safely inside. She had debated wearing the same outfit today as she'd worn on the day she was sent away, but decided that was a bit too melodramatic. This was a new beginning, and so she chose a light dress that Matthew had bought her, blue with white accents around the neck and sleeves. The burgundy hat that she paired with the outfit was a present from Isobel on her birthday. Mary felt it appropriate to be armed with clothes from her husband and mother-in-law as they entered Downton Abbey together.

Taking a deep breath, Mary held her head up high and stepped to the door, ringing the bell firmly.

Mary felt a slight rush of pride as Barrow's shocked face greeted her. He seemed surprised and intrigued at seeing her. Mary took the opportunity to walk past him, through the inner door and into the Great Hall, giving instructions as she went.

"Barrow, my trunk is outside. Please see that it is brought upstairs. If my bedroom is not available, please have Mrs. Hughes arrange something equally befitting for me at once."

Mary did not bother waiting for his reply or his reaction. She was already into the Great Hall by the time he recovered.

"Of course. Right away, Milady," he said before turning and going outside.

Mary could not have orchestrated the scene any better if she'd told each of the others in advance where they were to go and when. All at once it seemed that everyone had congregated in the Great Hall.

Sybil and Edith had just reached the bottom of the stairs when they made eye contact with her. Sybil grinned in surprise. Edith simply stared with her mouth open.

Granny came in from the parlour with Isobel. Violet Crawley started in shock, her cane stomping on the floor loudly. Isobel allowed the hint of a smile to cross her lips, then stood calmly by.

Carson's eyes went wider than Mary had ever seen before. His mouth opened slightly then he closed it immediately.

Anna and Bates came up from the servants' area downstairs. Anna saw her first and she smiled in surprise. Bates blinked and stopped in his tracks.

"Sybil! Edith! What are you two doing? I specifically told you not to…"

Cora stopped halfway up the stairs, seeing Mary standing there, all eyes upon her. Cora's face paled and a startled "Oh!" escaped her mouth.

But the reaction Mary wanted came as she heard voices to her right.

"I'm afraid that Lord Merton did not mention everyone to me," Matthew said as they approached the Great Hall. "You have three daughters, is that right?"

"Yes," Robert said tightly. "You'll meet Edith and Sybil tonight."

"And your other daughter?" Matthew asked innocently. "Is she here?"

Matthew watched as the Earl tensed at the mention of Mary.

"No," Robert said coldly. "My eldest daughter will not be at dinner tonight. She does not live here anymore, which is a good thing; but I'd rather not discuss the details."

Matthew jumped in immediately.

"Does she live in London then?" he asked. "Perhaps I'll see her during the season? I wouldn't want there to be anyone in your family that I do not know, Robert. Both the discovery of our relation and my arrival is probably a surprise to some, and I'd like to know everyone. That way we can be comfortable together, a true family."

"You won't need to meet her," Robert said dismissively. "It was my choice for her to leave this house, and she won't be returning. I know that you want us all to be comfortable with you under the circumstances, and your consideration is appreciated. But, when it comes to my eldest daughter, you need not concern yourself. All that matters is that I can see that you are a fine upstanding young man with a very bright future ahead of you. Because of that, I would never risk putting you anywhere near her."

They came into the Great Hall and Robert frowned as he saw Cora and his daughters on the stairs. He was about to motion for Cora to bring the girls back upstairs and away from Matthew when he saw his mother, Cousin Isobel and Carson standing across the Great Hall near the entrance to the parlour. His eyes and mind slowly noticed some of the servants nearby as well.

Whatever was going on?

Matthew sensed her presence before he actually saw her. He turned his head in the second after Robert made his condemnation, never even mentioning Mary by name, and there she was. She was gorgeous, and their eyes met briefly before she focused on her father.

"You would never risk putting him anywhere near who, Papa?" Mary asked with a beatific smirk.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, September 1913**_

* * *

><p>"Mary."<p>

The Earl of Grantham's voice was tight, his eyes narrow as he stared at his eldest daughter. "Are we expecting you?"

"You should be," Mary said easily, smiling at her father. "I'm sure that Mama would have mentioned my recent letter?"

"Of course I did," Cora said, a false smile plastered across her face as she came down the stairs. She quickly stepped past Edith and Sybil and stood next to Robert. "Your Papa is very busy, Mary. I must not have been clear enough when I told him."

"Mary?" Matthew said, frowning at her in confusion. "Ah, you must be Lady Mary Crawley, the eldest daughter," he said, stepping forward.

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Mary quickly cut him off.

"Please, it's Cousin Mary," Mary replied formally, looking at Matthew. "And you must be my father's heir, the one everyone seems to be talking about."

"Matthew," Matthew said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Cousin Mary."

Mary placed her hand in his, struggling to keep her face neutral. His body blocked everyone else's view of her and he quickly ran his thumb across her fingers. She felt a delightful shiver as she shook hands with her own husband in front of her estranged family.

"Welcome to Downton Abbey, Cousin Matthew," she said.

"Now that the entire family seems to be here, perhaps we should make all the introductions?" Matthew asked, turning towards Robert.

"We can take care of that after we change for dinner," Robert replied, keeping his voice calm, his eyes not moving from Mary. "Carson, the gong, please."

"Yes, my Lord," Carson bowed, before dashing off.

"Mama," Mary spoke up. "I told Barrow to bring my trunk to my old bedroom, unless there is another room where I should stay?"

Robert again opened his mouth to speak, but Cora interjected quickly.

"It's remained the same since you were…last here," Cora smiled. "Barrow, please take Lady Mary's belongings up to her room. Anna,"

"Yes, your Ladyship," Anna answered, stepping forward and curtseying.

"Lady Mary's had a long trip from Manchester, I suspect. Please attend to her first. We wouldn't want her sudden arrival to delay dinner," Cora ordered.

"Yes, your Ladyship," Anna bowed. She followed Barrow upstairs.

Carson rang the gong. Robert gave Cora a knowing look, then turned and went upstairs without another word. Bates followed behind him without prompting. Cora motioned for Sybil and Edith to go up as well, and they reluctantly obeyed, their eyes glancing at Mary as they went back to up to their rooms.

"You can go up to your room in the Bachelor's Wing, Matthew," Cora smiled. "Barrow will be in to attend to you once he's dropped off Mary's luggage."

"Thank you, Cousin Cora," Matthew bowed his head. He struggled not to look at Mary, and he quickly turned for the stairs before his eyes and mouth betrayed them.

"Well, let's get on with our walk," Violet said to Isobel cheerfully. "You can renew your acquaintance with Mary when we gather before dinner."

Isobel nodded and glanced over at Mary briefly before following the Dowager Countess down a hallway in the direction of the back of the house and the rose garden.

The Great Hall emptied, leaving Mary and Cora appraising each other. Mary held her chin high, her eyes fierce. Her mother's perfect hostess tone of voice and countenance did not fool her. Mary stepped past and headed for the stairs.

Cora glared at her eldest daughter and easily fell in stride next to her, taking the stairs briskly.

"Of all the times to return, Mary!" Cora hissed. "Matthew's just come with his mother. This is a very important dinner for Papa, for all of us, and you've thrown him off before it's even started."

"I told you that I was coming," Mary said plainly, not bothering to stop at the first landing to carry on their conversation. "He should not be so surprised to see me when my return was imminent."

"I never wrote back to you to give you your father's permission to return here, Mary," Cora noted.

"And I never asked," Mary retorted.

"You're inviting a spectacle! If you'd arrived at any other time, he would have seen you barred from coming in," Cora frowned. "Don't think he won't suggest that you leave at the first opportunity."

"Ah, but he won't do that now, will he, Mama?" Mary arched her eyebrow in challenge. "He won't do anything to lose face in front of his precious new heir. He wouldn't want Matthew to get the wrong impression of our family, would he?"

"What are you playing at, Mary?" Cora sighed as they walked down the hall and entered the Family Wing. "Why come back? Why now?"

"I would think it rather obvious," Mary replied. "With James and Patrick dead, there's no reason for me to stay away any longer. We both know it was their command that threw me into exile in the first place. Now that they're gone, I can come home to everyone's open arms."

"Your Papa agreed with their decision to banish you, Mary," Cora shook her head. "You don't honestly think you're welcome here, do you?"

"Aren't you even the slightest bit pleased to see me, Mama?" Mary asked, looking at her intently.

"Yes," Cora nodded. "You're still my daughter. I'm pleased to see you looking so well, but I thought it clear that this life is closed to you, Mary, for reasons that you are well aware of. To ignore all of that and deliberately come back when you know your presence here is not appreciated, it's senseless."

"I think you'll find that not everyone is sorry to see me, Mama," Mary smiled. "Besides, I wanted to meet Matthew, to get to know him. He will be the head of our family one day."

"Get to know him?" Cora asked incredulously. "You heard your Papa. He doesn't want you anywhere near Matthew."

"Well, we'll be near enough at dinner, won't we?" Mary smiled, reaching her old bedroom. "I'll just have to see what this Matthew is all about. Oh, don't worry, Mama. I won't embarrass Papa in front of the son he always wanted. I have bigger fish to fry."

Mary turned and went into her old bedroom, leaving Cora to shake her head and continue on to her own room.

* * *

><p>Mary took a deep breath as she looked at her reflection in the full length mirror. Anna had been quick and efficient as always. Mary knew the maid was needed by both Edith and Sybil, so she didn't want to keep her by making small talk. She was also unsure as to what Anna thought of her return. While the old Mary would not have cared one bit for the opinions of a servant, the new Mary – Matthew's Mary – had truly missed her.<p>

"I'm very glad to see you back, Milady," Anna said quietly on her way out the door.

"Thank you, Anna," Mary said genuinely. It was a small comment, but it made Mary feel immensely pleased. She was right, after all. Not everyone would be as aghast at her return as her parents were. She could count on Granny, and now Anna, and of course there was always…

"Oh God, Mary!" Sybil squealed as she came running into the room. Mary barely had time to turn before her sister hugged her tightly.

"Sybil," Mary grinned, squeezing the girl close. "Darling, you need to get ready for dinner."

"Anna's busy with Edith," Sybil replied, stepping back slightly. "I'm always an afterthought. You know that."

"Not to me, you're not," Mary said firmly. "There were days when your letters were all that kept me sane."

"Oh, Mary," Sybil shook her head. "What was it like? Manchester? You gave so few details. Were you all right? Were you able to make a life for yourself like you said?"

"I was," Mary nodded. "I did. As hard as it is to believe, I was quite happy in Manchester, actually."

Sybil laughed in disbelief. "I can't imagine you there, living such a different life than the one we're accustomed to. Why did you come back, Mary? You know that Papa doesn't want you here."

"That's as good a reason as any," Mary smiled wryly. "This is my home, Sybil. I belong here. I was sent away through James' and Patrick's scheming years ago, and now they're gone and I'm here, and I intend to stay."

"Truly?" Sybil asked hopefully. "But what about the gossip? No one's forgotten, you know."

"Sadly, yes I do know," Mary said, turning away and looking at her reflection once again. "I don't want to think about how horribly I'll be treated, but still, I had to come back, Sybil, especially with Cousin Matthew being here now."

"What do you think of him?" Sybil asked. "He's rather handsome, isn't he?"

Mary's eyes widened and she turned to look at her sister. "Handsome?" she repeated.

"Well…yes," Sybil shrugged. "Tall, blond hair, blue eyes; he's straight out of a romance novel, isn't he?"

"All the men in the novels I've read had dark hair and brown eyes," Mary smirked. "But his looks aside, I'm more interested in who he is and what he believes. I want to know just who it is we'll be handing all of this over to and obeying for the rest of our lives."

"But he'll just follow Papa's example, won't he?" Sybil asked. "If Papa tells him that you shouldn't be here, he'll surely agree."

"I intend to find out," Mary stated. "We'll soon see if Cousin Matthew is merely a puppet for Papa or whether he's his own man."

"I've missed you, Mary," Sybil grinned, approaching her. "You can't know how much."

"I think I can, actually," Mary smiled at her sister. "No matter what happens, thank you for being so sweet. Don't ever lose that, Sybil. You've got the warmest heart of any of us, and that's why you're sure to do better."

* * *

><p>Mary approached the stairs with Edith and Sybil. She chastised herself for feeling almost giddy as she walked. She was back. Back at Downton Abbey, dressed and primped for dinner as though nothing had ever changed. She'd missed this, even if she did not want to admit it.<p>

"So you…worked…with Cousin Isobel?" Edith asked.

"She was my supervisor," Mary replied. "Though there were a number of us. I never got to know her beyond the hospital."

"And you never came across Cousin Matthew the entire time you were there?" Edith continued.

"Why would I?" Mary said. "I knew his parents as they both worked in the hospital, but I never met him. It was bad enough that I had to work at all. I surely wasn't going to waste my time getting to know the people there and their families."

"How strange that you came so close to meeting Cousin Matthew before any of us did," Sybil said.

"You can call it strange, but I'd say I was lucky. At least this way, I can judge him after he's already been made Papa's heir. Who knows how much he's changed from whoever he was in Manchester?"

"Does he strike you as a fortune hunter?" Sybil asked.

"I don't know," Mary replied. "I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"

They all turned to the final flight of stairs and each of them looked up in surprise. Matthew was waiting for them in the Great Hall, dressed immaculately in black tie.

"Hello," Mary managed, swallowing as she reached him. She always knew her husband was gorgeous, but seeing him in her home, dressed so formally made her swoon slightly. He looked like royalty, like an Earl.

"Cousin Mary, Cousin Edith, Cousin Sybil," Matthew nodded politely. "I don't mean to impose, but I was hoping to spend time with the three of you before we went through to dinner. I expect I'll be interrogated and prodded all through the meal so I'd like a bit more friendly conversation beforehand."

"And what makes you think we'll be friendly?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow.

Matthew blinked in surprise, then smiled at all of them.

"I suppose we'll all find out, won't we? We will be living under the same roof. Eventually we'll know all there is to know about each other," he said, glancing intently at Mary before looking at her sisters.

"Right this way, Cousin Matthew," Edith smiled, guiding him to the parlour. "We'd be delighted to entertain you until dinner is served."

"Edith seems to have been cleaned and shined while I was away," Mary noted, following behind Matthew and her sister.

"You know how Mama is," Sybil rolled her eyes. "She's always worried about our prospects."

"If I wanted to attract a man, I'd stay away from that dress," Mary snarled.

"Don't be so unkind," Sybil whispered. "Let's just get to know Cousin Matthew, like you said."

"Yes," Mary nodded as they entered the parlour. "Let's find out all there is to know about him."

* * *

><p>When Matthew came into the dining room, his breath caught in his throat. He'd been to many formal dinners in Manchester and London, both entertaining clients and attending various events, but the dining room at Downton Abbey was different, not so much for its opulence, but for all it represented. He could not help but watch as Mary walked elegantly down one side and took the seat at the end of the long table – a table that would one day be theirs. In that moment, he pictured her presiding over their family dinner, laughing and bantering with their guests, giving him teasing looks, her tiara and wedding rings glinting in the lights of the chandelier.<p>

"You can sit over there, Matthew," Cora whispered to him, nodding her head to one side of the table.

"Yes, of course," Matthew acknowledged, blushing slightly as he walked briskly down the table. He took advantage of Cora's lack of precision and took the seat two over from Mary. She did not acknowledge his presence, glancing in the other direction. Before he could say anything to her, Edith took the seat between them.

"A fine meal should be just the thing after your long journey here," Edith smiled.

"Yes, quite," Matthew nodded politely.

As the courses were served, Matthew gave small token responses, allowing Robert and Violet and even his mother to lead most of the conversation. He stole a few glances towards Mary, but she spent all of her time speaking to Sybil or not looking in his direction.

"Most of the invitations for your welcome party have been accepted, Matthew," Cora boasted. "We expect many people are eager to meet you."

"It's a mere formality, of course," Robert added. "But it may give you a chance to get used to this sort of thing – the attention and interest – before we go to London for Winter Season and there's more events to attend."

"I'm eager to grow accustomed to such things," Matthew nodded, reaching for what he hoped was the correct soup spoon. "I'll spend my days learning everything about the Estate and my nights learning about Society."

"How eager you are," Mary noted, not offering anything further as she tasted her soup.

"Yes, and I'm glad to see such enthusiasm," Robert said quickly, seizing the conversation back from his daughter. "I was under the impression from Lord Merton that you intended to take a job in Ripon with a law firm there."

"A job? Why would he require one of those regrettable things?" Violet frowned.

"I don't," Matthew smiled. "I'm sorry to say that Lord Merton is misinformed. While I will always have an affection for the law, I believe it more prudent to focus on this Estate, rather than anyone else's."

"Do you have much experience with Estates and the law, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked.

"Sybil," Cora quietly reprimanded her daughter.

"Some, yes," Matthew said with a small laugh. "I practised in industrial law in Manchester – wills, estates, conveyancing – that sort of thing. I do expect that the Grantham Estate is far more complicated than those I am used to, however."

"What he means is that he isn't particularly familiar with our sort of people, Sybil, dear," Mary smiled.

Matthew glanced over at her curiously. Why was such a comment necessary?

"I haven't encountered an Estate as large as this one, that's true," Matthew said carefully. "But I've been doing a lot of reading on entails and the law of succession. I'm confident I'll pick it up quickly, with all of you to help me."

"The man reads," Mary smirked, reaching for her wine glass. "Papa, you've found a true jewel."

"It won't all be study for you, Matthew," Robert smiled, ignoring Mary's remark. "If you ever want to ride, just let Lynch know and he'll sort it out for you."

"Oh, Papa, Cousin Matthew doesn't ride," Mary chuckled.

"I do ride, actually," Matthew said tightly, frowning for just a moment at his wife.

"Ah, and do you hunt?" Mary replied, looking directly at him this time.

"No, I don't hunt," Matthew answered.

"I daresay there must not be much opportunity in Manchester," Edith smiled at him.

Cora and Violet both smiled at the remark, their pride in Edith's tact obvious.

"Are you a hunting family?" Matthew asked, turning to Robert.

"Families like ours are always hunting families," Mary volunteered.

"Not always," Robert said pointedly. "Billy Skelton won't have them on his land."

"But all the Skeltons are mad," Mary laughed. "I trust you aren't using them as a model for us now, Papa?"

Robert sipped his wine and cast an angry glance at Cora.

"Do you hunt, Cousin Mary?" Matthew asked,

"I used to, yes," Mary answered. "I suppose you're more interested in books than country sport."

"I probably am. You'll tell me that's rather unhealthy," Matthew said.

"Not at all," Mary smiled. "Just unusual…for our kind of people."

The footmen were called upon to refill the family's wine glasses far more often than they'd ever had in the past two years.

"And what specifically have you been reading?" Mary asked, not caring that no one else was taking up the conversation.

"Hopefully not novels," Violet said with disdain. "I can't stand those with a vice for fiction. It's worse than Greek drama where everything happens off stage."

"I'm afraid that I have been reading Greek drama; mythology in particular" he said. "I find them quite enlightening."

"Then you would know the story of Persephone and Hades," Mary said lightly.

"That's hardly a story for the dinner table," Robert said, finishing his wine shortly after it had just been refilled. "It is enlightening though. Persephone must spend months in Tartarus because she did something forbidden, and so she is rightly punished for it. I always enjoy stories that teach us that there are consequences for our impulsive actions."

"As do I," Mary nodded, looking over at Matthew again. "There are always numerous lessons within the layers of these stories. In the case of Persephone, she met her unfortunate fate because her all-powerful father, Zeus, did nothing to protect her from being violated."

Robert grit his teeth. Cora looked down at her plate.

"I fear that I'm always entranced by a redemption story," Matthew said, filling the silence. "Though Persephone was punished severely, she also is the harbinger of Spring, a reminder of the growth and hope that the change in seasons represent, as well as the personification of a lost daughter returning to her loving mother. There's some purpose then to what has befallen her, and a reason to believe that her life is not defined by her time in the underworld."

"Bravo," Isobel chimed in. "Well said."

* * *

><p>Cora and Robert took command of the conversation through the entrée and pudding courses. Cora took the ladies through at the first opportunity, leaving Matthew alone with Robert. The Earl downed his port as if he were thirsty for water, and Matthew regarded him carefully, politely declining cigars from Carson as he watched the Earl try and compose himself.<p>

"I seem to always be apologizing for the rudeness of my eldest daughter," Robert said, staring at his glass. "I hope she did not offend you too much. Mary does not speak for the rest of us, you know."

"I rather enjoyed the debate," Matthew smiled. "I admire Mary's passion…that is, she clearly enjoys an argument, a trait that I can appreciate, being a lawyer and all," Matthew stammered.

"You're too kind," Robert nodded. "I'll give Cora instructions to move Mary somewhere else when the opportunity arises. She won't be a bother for much longer."

"May I ask why?" Matthew frowned. "It seems to me you would want your entire family together as we begin this new era. I'm not very experienced with Society, but I am quite familiar with the need to present the proper image to the outside world."

"Mary is…complicated," Robert offered. "I would rather she not remain here to stir up trouble. She has a talent for that, I assure you."

"I must be missing something, as I cannot imagine that a few barbs over dinner being too threatening," Matthew laughed. "If she makes her mind to hate me, she wouldn't be the first woman to do so. And her challenges and insults can only help prepare me for what I may face in London. As for having her live under the same roof, if you're afraid of what she may do to the family name, keeping her close is far better than sending her away beyond our control. As for living with her each day, well, we can manage that, can't we?"

Robert looked at him curiously. "Yes, I suppose we can," he said finally.

"Good," Matthew nodded, raising his glass to the Earl. "Then it's settled. Mary stays, and we'll forge our path forward, even if it means dragging her along with us."

Robert laughed and sipped his port. Matthew's heart did cartwheels in his chest.

"Well, you've survived your first dinner at Downton Abbey," Robert smiled. "And your future seems even brighter to me than it did mere hours ago, Matthew."

* * *

><p>Matthew glanced across the vast fields below, the moonlight giving the lands a ghostly hue. The wide open spaces seemed to carry on for miles, and it would all be his one day. He had an idea of just how large the Estate was – both in distance and wealth – but seeing it for himself was startling. His parents' entire neighbourhood in Manchester could fit in a mere corner of this place.<p>

He had dismissed Barrow hours ago, the valet had been rather patronising in his attentions, his constant assurances that he would get Matthew up to speed in no time and how Barrow was the perfect man for Matthew grated on his nerves. There was something malicious about the man, hidden just below the surface of his tight smile that made Matthew suspicious. It did not help that he knew he was one of the witnesses who had contributed to Mary's banishment. Matthew was too tired to strike up conversation with Barrow. He changed quickly and said good night. After spending most of the night putting on airs and pretending to be a shadow of himself, he was in no mood for further banter.

He had tried to sleep, but had given up quite quickly. The evening had ended rather abruptly. When he and Robert had come through, Mary and Sybil had already retired. He saw his mother and Cousin Violet to their car shortly after, and before he knew it, the family had all retired. He suspected that they did not want to give Mary any more opportunity to do any more damage, and Matthew was sorry for it. Even having fake arguments with his wife was preferable to being without her at all.

The mattress of his bed was too soft, the blankets too warm, the pillows not firm enough. He'd finally gotten up after rolling around fitfully and taken a seat at the window. He looked back at the bed wistfully. The real problem was that it was too empty. His eyes shot up as the door quickly opened and closed and he blinked several times as his dreams became real.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"My, that's quite the loving greeting," Mary smiled, coming over to him and sitting between his legs.

"How did you get here?" Matthew gasped, the closeness of her presence causing his skin to warm quickly.

"I walked," Mary said, wrapping her arms across his shoulders. When he did not reply, she reached for his hand and showed his wristwatch to him.

"The servants are all asleep by midnight at the latest. O'Brien finishes with Mama and has a smoke outside with Barrow before retiring. Usually waiting an hour or two in case there's any fire that needs tending or an emergency of some sort ensures that upstairs is entirely silent."

"So one can roam about the house at 2 o'clock virtually undetected," Matthew nodded.

"Exactly," Mary smiled, returning her hands to the back of his neck. "I used to keep track of such things when I wanted to sneak down to the kitchens for cookies."

"And now?" Matthew asked, leering at her.

"Now I'm craving something much sweeter," Mary smirked before leaning forward and kissing him.

"Mmm," she hummed, drawing back. "Now that is the greeting I was expecting."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not used to having a woman I just met this afternoon come to my bedroom so quickly," Matthew smiled.

"Even if that woman is your wife?" Mary teased.

"I don't have a wife," Matthew retorted. "But, perhaps I could call you my Persephone. Though I'm afraid that would make me Hades."

"Certainly not," Mary said, stroking his hair. "Spending time with Hades was a regrettable duty. Spending time with you is an immense pleasure."

Matthew kissed her again, his hands moving to the tie of her robe. He undid the sash and his hands moved to her hips, drawing a gasp from her as she felt his touch through her thin nightgown.

"You were quite rude to me at dinner," he murmured against her neck.

"I had to be," Mary whispered, her head falling back as he kissed her warm skin. "We aren't supposed to know each other, and if I carried on a normal conversation with you, I'd risk allowing my true feelings to show."

"And how do you feel about me, exactly?" Matthew asked, his voice low and full of meaning.

"Take me to bed and find out," Mary breathed, her hands clutching his shoulders.

"That's rather bold of you," he smiled. "What if someone comes to check on you, or on me?"

"Everyone's asleep," Mary said quickly as he reached up and touched her breast through the nightgown. "The servants won't be awake until 5 o'clock, and you're quite isolated in this part of the house. No one would hear us."

"Well that's good," Matthew said thickly. "Because seeing you tonight, here in your home, where you belong, looking absolutely beautiful, had me in quite a state all through dinner. I may not be able to be very…quiet."

"Is that so?" Mary smiled, her eyes closed. "It's a good thing that Edith sat between us then, as otherwise my hands may have been quite active underneath the table."

"And you said I would have trouble controlling myself once we arrived here?" Matthew laughed.

"I need to take these moments with you when I can. I won't be able to come to you every night, or perhaps even every week," Mary said. "Everyone's still in shock over my return, but eventually they'll devise a strategy to get rid of me, and I'll be monitored at all times."

"I doubt that," Matthew said confidently, his hand moving beneath her nightgown and caressing her thigh. "I actually made quite sure tonight that you're allowed to stay."

"What?" Mary asked, opening her eyes and looking at him. "How?"

"By taking advantage of your father's pride," Matthew smiled devilishly. "I told him that we have no reason to fear you being here and that you'd be easier to control if you were under the same roof. He agreed."

"Control me?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow at him. "You think that you can, do you?"

"I'm happy for you to take the lead, if it suits you," Matthew replied, nodding his head towards the bed.

Mary laughed, then kissed him again. "And what is on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"Assuming I will have the strength to walk in the morning," Matthew arched his eyebrow playfully. "I need to see the entail, and Robert has promised to provide me with it for my review. I also intend to set up an appointment with Murray so I can review the Estate books. I'm sure it's not necessary, but I'd like to understand exactly what I will be inheriting, and what you will one day preside over."

Mary smiled at his last remark. "So what do you think of Downton, now that you're here?"

"It's very impressive," Matthew nodded. "And I must say that you look as though you're in your element. You belong here, Mary, just as my father believed."

"I must say it feels good to be here. I'm going to visit Granny tomorrow and renew acquaintances. I also want to see your mother at some point. I'm sure it's all rather a shock for her," Mary said.

"Then we both have a busy day ahead of us," Matthew said, picking her up and carrying her to bed. He lay her down and followed after her, opening her robe fully and kissing her. Mary unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off of him and working her hands down to his pants.

"Matthew," she smiled, squeezing his buttocks as he drew her nightgown up her legs. "Please."

"Wait for me," he hissed. He reached over to the nightstand, pulling the drawer open and fumbling around in the dark. He finally pulled the small packet out and returned to kissing his wife.

"In your nightstand, Matthew?" she gasped. "Honestly!"

Matthew opened the flimsy wrapper and moved the condom over himself. "Well, that's where I kept them back home!" he grunted.

Mary moved her hand down and assisted him, smiling at his struggles. "You don't have the same privacy here as in Manchester, Matthew. You have to assume that the servants will be poking around your things."

"Where would you suggest I keep them then? Should I carry one around in my pocket in case you feel the urge in the middle of the day?" Matthew said ruefully, before he parted her legs and kissed her.

Mary laughed, pulling him closer. "Very well. I suppose gossip about the womanizing heir isn't entirely inappropriate. It will give more credence to the story of you being single and unattached."

"I don't want to talk about my bachelor status anymore," Matthew growled, kissing her neck and moving his hips against hers. "I'm in bed with my wife and I want her…desperately."

Mary laughed again, a throaty seductive sound this time. She moved her hands down to Matthew's bottom and fondled him. "Well then, by all means, take me, husband. We don't have much time."

"Welcome home, Lady Mary," Matthew said huskily as he moved upon her.

* * *

><p>"I believe that is the last of them," Robert said as Murray arranged the large leather bound books on the table.<p>

Matthew eyed the volumes thoughtfully, eager to begin diving into them. Even Mary was not aware of the precise details contained within. She knew generally that the Estate earned money from rents and the odd sale of grain or other product, and she assumed that there were costs associated with employing the servants, maintaining the land and the properties and buildings, but that was the extent of it. Matthew needed to see the numbers. To understand how the operation worked on such a precise level was another weapon in their arsenal. He would then be able to speak to Robert on equal terms, and understand how the power structure with James and Patrick had worked.

"It certainly is a lot," Matthew said carefully.

Robert smiled as he watched his heir. This presentation often did the trick, intimidating those weak at heart. It did force the Earl to remember when he was sitting in Matthew's chair, the first time his father had brought him to Murray's office to see the depth of detail involved in running Downton, as well as one of the last times Robert had been with James and Patrick. Robert's knowledge of the Estate and how it operated was his way of controlling Matthew, just as he had endeavoured to do with James and Patrick. So long as he could maintain the knowledge gap between them, Matthew would have to accept his word on certain matters and fall in line. Though Matthew was a lawyer by training, Robert reviewed the books each month with great precision. There was nothing that Matthew could discover that Robert did not already know, and that gave him the upper hand that he needed.

"Murray acts as our go-between with the banks in London as well. When my father was alive, he made it a point to request regular statements and have them forwarded to his legal counsel, and the books would then be brought to Downton for review. It's a practice I've continued, and one that you should grow familiar with as well. Never rely upon anyone else's opinion or advice until you thoroughly understand what you're talking about first."

Matthew noticed the leather volumes did not have a speck of dust upon them. Robert's boasting of how meticulous he was seemed to ring true.

"You review these books each month, Robert?" Matthew asked.

"Every month, same day and time; like clockwork," Robert said proudly.

"His Lordship is very hands on, you'll find," Murray echoed.

"And the books remain with Murray in London?" Matthew asked.

"They do," Robert nodded. "We don't keep them here. Once a month all invoices, bills, cheques and receipts are sent to London for Murray and our accountants to reconcile the books. They are then brought to me. This ensures that no one person has full control over the information and allows for sufficient balances to keep everything accurate. Another practice that my father passed on."

Matthew nodded. He could see how this was important. Though Robert did not allude to it, Matthew knew from Mary that there were issues with bankruptcy in the past. To leave the books in the hands of the Earl alone would invite the possibility of corruption and falsifying records. Murray seemed a decent man, from the little that Matthew knew of him, and he had a code of conduct as a lawyer that he was bound to follow. Matthew also suspected that this system ensured that the Estate lawyer had to wait for information from the Earl just as the Earl had to wait on information from the bank. No one person had full disclosure of everything.

"Well," Robert said looking at his watch, "I have a lunch meeting. You can begin reviewing the records and Murray will come back this afternoon to collect the books. If you feel you need more time, we can make arrangements for one of his associates to bring the books back next week and stay longer to give you more time."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded. "I'll see what I can accomplish today."

"Very well, Mr. Crawley," Murray nodded, and he followed Robert out of the library.

Matthew opened the first volume and arranged his fresh notepad in front of him. He sighed as he began perusing the numbers. He didn't need to memorize everything. He just wanted to get an idea for the overall condition of the Estate, where the largest source of revenues was, and the largest expenses. He could then go to Mary with the information, and determine what else he needed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew sipped his drink and perused the ballroom, glancing about to his relatives involved in different conversations throughout the room. He'd already endured a rather long and boring receiving line, with Robert and Cora introducing him to neighbours, colleagues and old friends of the Crawley family. His duty completed, Matthew could now take a brief respite before he was undoubtedly pulled in another direction. He saw Edith and Sybil each entertaining a separate group of guests. He had seen in the weeks he'd been here that the Crawley sisters were well trained in social conventions. They were both comfortable speaking on a number of subjects, and though they did not have Mary's quick wit or bite, they were pleasant to be around. Sybil in particular, was kind and warm. Matthew sometimes imagined her glee if they were to reveal the truth about their marriage, but he would then refocus on the overall plan and goal of what he was doing. If he was successful, there would be plenty of time to fill Sybil in on all that she did not know.<p>

"Mr. Crawley," a voice called. Matthew turned and smiled at the Morgan sisters – Celia and Celeste; friends of Lord Grantham's sister Rosamund. Matthew had already learned that these middle-aged women were gossip mongers of the highest order. He was already guarded as it was being in a strange environment with people he did not know. His defences were on even higher alert around these two.

"You don't look much like James or Patrick," Celia said as she moved up her glasses and appraised him.

"That isn't such a bad thing though," Celeste said with a grin. "After all James was not graceful, especially when he spoke as a boy, remember that awful stutter?"

"How true," Celia said mournfully, "I had forgotten about the stutter, rest his soul."

"What a relief you must be to Lord Grantham," Celeste said with a smile, "A young and handsome heir, and a bachelor too."

"James was a wonderful dancer though," Celia continued as though she hadn't heard her sister. "I miss dancing with him as Robert has two left feet."

Matthew stared at the two women as they lobbed comments back and forth; it was almost like watching a tennis match.

"When I remember James, I remember the way he used to wheeze because of his asthma. It was quite unbecoming. But, then bless his heart, I always think of that dance he had with Cora Levinson. He noticed her before Robert did," Celeste said in response.

"Now, don't fill this young man's head with such nonsense. You saw no such thing. That is just an old rumour. James was already engaged to Phyllis Astoria, Patrick's mother by the time Cora came over from America," Celia said.

"Maybe someday, you will love like that," Celeste said to Matthew. "James and Phyllis. Now that was a love match," she smiled wistfully.

"By the way, have you met my daughter Sophia?" Celia asked.

Matthew sipped his drink to hide the grimace on his face from being revealed.

"Yes," he said after the short delay. "I've had that privilege," he said politely. Their intentions were entirely transparent, and although Mary had warned him of these types of traps before, to watch the walls closing around him was startling.

"If you will excuse me ladies," he said courteously. "I believe that Cousin Violet requires me."

He stepped away from the crowd and headed briskly for the door. Fresh air was desperately needed. The only thing he had learned from this gathering was that everyone seemed eager to offer their opinions about James and Patrick to him, in the guise of pseudo condolences, and invariably these comments were negative. It gave him a modicum of pleasure to know that these villains from Mary's past were not held in particular high regard in Society.

Matthew wandered on to the terrace and glanced up at the night sky, the murmurs of the party buzzing in the background. Mary had been selective in her appearances tonight, moving in and out of the ballroom just long enough to be seen, but not staying in one place to allow anyone to question what she'd been doing for the past two years.

"Mr. Crawley?" A voice called from behind him.

Matthew turned to see the offered handshake of one of the first men who had greeted him earlier.

"Mr. Napier," he said as he accepted the handshake, nodding as the young Viscount smiled at him.

"Rather an ordeal isn't it?" Evelyn laughed.

"It's a necessary duty," Matthew replied, careful not to reveal too much. "Everything is new to me, so it's all at minimum a learning experience."

Evelyn nodded. "Speaking of new experiences, will you be leading the grouse hunt tomorrow? That was always Patrick's job to the best of my recollection."

"I'll be there, but as for leading it, I don't know how active I'll be in that. Did you know him well?" Matthew asked.

"No," Evelyn shook his head. "I did not. In all honestly, I expect that you are sick of hearing about the pair of them, James and Patrick; I know I am. It's been over a year since the _Titanic_. You would think that people would be able to move on to other subjects."

"Well, I suppose that's where I come in," Matthew said. "Though I don't know how fascinating some will find me."

"For your sake, hopefully not much," Evelyn smiled. "I'm sure that Lord Grantham is coaching you suitably. If I can be of any assistance, please feel free to ask. I won't guarantee that I'll be any use to you though."

"Actually, you can," Matthew said, an idea forming in his mind. "I don't wish to dredge up the past, but it seems to me there is a strange amount of interest in Lady Mary as well."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "Well, it is a surprise to see her back, that is true. I never expected that I would have the pleasure of her company again."

Matthew kept his expression neutral, though his stomach rolled uncomfortably. He knew that Mary had flirted with Evelyn during her Season, and that Evelyn had asked about her following her exile, but surely the man did not have intentions towards her years later? Matthew suppressed the urge to order Evelyn to stay away from his wife and continued on.

"I must confess that no one has actually told me the precise nature of why she was away in the first place. I've heard small bits here and there, but I don't know if it's my place to ask. I don't expect it's important, but as this is now my family, and my House, I feel a responsibility to be aware of anything important, you see," Matthew explained.

"And asking a family friend isn't nearly as potentially rude as asking Lord Grantham or Lady Mary herself," Evelyn nodded. "You have more talent for this than you let on, Mr. Crawley."

"Please, it's Matthew," Matthew nodded.

"All I know is conjecture and innuendo," Evelyn said. "The common tale is that Lady Mary was found in a rather compromising position and was sent away as a result. I do feel terrible about it as it was one of my guests – a Turkish ambassador – who played a role in it. I only found this out after he went back to Istanbul, and I haven't spoken to him since. We weren't friends, of course. I was assigned to him by the department as his host. Since then, with relations between the Ottomans and Britain souring, I expect I'll never see him again."

"I see," Matthew said.

"There was a lot of gossip and speculation during the first Season after Mary left," Evelyn added. "But there's been another Season since then, and most have moved on. Mary's return though may unfortunately bring things to the fore once again, which is probably why it's been so hard to get a hold of her tonight."

"And what about you? Do you believe the rumours about her?" Matthew asked.

"I can't say," Evelyn shook his head. "A part of me doesn't want to, but to say that Lady Mary was not friendly, even flirtatious with that man on the night in question would be a lie. She was far from friendly to us the next morning, which would seem to indicate something happened during the evening to change her mood."

Matthew swallowed. He knew very well what horrors had transpired, and his heart ached for what his wife had suffered through in the months before she came into his life.

"Well, there's no need to discuss it further. Hopefully everyone will be so focused on exposing my middle class background that they'll allow Mary some peace," Matthew said.

"As you're the one who brought it up, I'll say that I hope so also," Evelyn nodded. "As for the hunt, well, do not bother yourself about your possible performance. At the last hunt I attended, Patrick was both high handled and incompetent. Whatever you bring to this event I'm sure you will shine by comparison."

"Thank you," Matthew said gracefully. "I'd better go back in before they send a search party for the new heir."

He left Evelyn on the terrace, still somewhat bothered by the man's continued interest in Mary, but grateful for the information he provided. Matthew's original plan was to study the entail and find a hole or flaw that he could exploit to restore Mary and reveal her as his wife. His preliminary review had given him very little to work with as of yet. His initial investigations into what Society believed about what happened to Mary and what they were still talking about was now more important. If he could find a way to refute Mary's scandal regarding the Turk, then Society would believe her to be pure once again, and without Patrick to speak out against it, Matthew could possibly fit her within the strict terms of the entail. The various scenarios were confusing and muddled, but Matthew knew he had to try every option and every possibility, and not gamble their future on one strategy alone.

"Cousin Matthew," a warm voice called and Matthew smiled as he turned around.

"Cousin Mary," he nodded as Mary stood before him.

"Your drink requires a refill," Mary noted. "Shall we?"

"Please," Matthew smiled. He escorted her over to a secluded corner of the room, then beckoned for Barrow to exchange his empty glass for a full one off the silver tray the footman turned valet carried. He and Mary continued to move, staying on the periphery of the room and away from inquisitive eyes and crowds of people.

"We can't talk for long," Mary whispered. "I'll be retiring soon. The less that people see of me, the better. How are you holding up?"

"I'm bored," Matthew sighed. "I'd much rather be upstairs with you."

"Stop it!" she scolded him. "We're practically in public."

"Then all of your parents' guests may unfortunately overhear how I want to take you upstairs and make love to you for the rest of the evening," Matthew growled.

"Matthew, please!" Mary hissed. "This isn't easy for me either. I'm not ashamed to admit that going without you for three weeks has been horrible. Have you learned anything?"

"Mostly that the only people here who thought highly of James and Patrick were your parents and Edith," Matthew answered quietly as they turned around and made another circuit of the room. "It's not enough to discredit their story about you, but it may allow me to learn more that would be of use to us."

"In what way?" Mary frowned, looking away from him.

"I can't go into it now, but I need to tell you about what I've seen in the Estate books. There are…complications…that we were not aware of. In fact, I doubt even your father knows about them."

"What does that have to do with the entail and your plan?" Mary asked.

"I'll explain later," he answered. "If we can ride off on our own tomorrow during the Hunt, we can discuss it."

"Papa will be watching both of us," Mary shook her head. "But I may be able to come up with something. I'll see you in the morning."

"I love you, Mary," Matthew said quietly, looking down at the floor.

Mary smiled as Matthew walked away from her and over to rejoin Lord Grantham who was laughing jovially with several old men.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1913**_

* * *

><p>"I know that you don't hunt, but you'll have to start sometime. Now is as good a moment as any," Robert smiled, walking outside with Matthew.<p>

"I agree," Matthew nodded. "Though I still can't promise I'll be any good at it. If I can stay on my horse, that will be a victory."

"Oh, we don't use horses for the grouse hunt," Robert chuckled. "You'll draw a lot for your first post and walk there. We'll send the servants into the brush to draw the birds out. It's quite simple, really. Just aim and shoot, and your loader will take care of the rest."

"Good," Matthew said. "The less that I need to think about, the better."

Robert's expression soured slightly as he reached the gathered crowd and noticed all of his daughters standing with Cora. Though he had no illusions that Mary was somehow going to be absent from the hunt, her very presence was a harsh reminder of the last hunt she'd attended, and all that had happened afterward.

"Well, let's draw the lots, then," Robert declared, reaching into the hat held by Lynch and moving off to allow others to follow his lead.

"By my count, there are eight more men than women," Cora said pleasantly. "But not to worry, we'll spread the luck around as we go through the day."

"Who shall we begin with?" Edith asked with a smile. "Mama will stand with Papa of course, but what about the rest of us?"

"Lady Mary will stand with me," Matthew said casually, reaching in and drawing his lot.

Robert and Cora looked at him curiously. Edith seemed to pout. Sybil was intrigued.

"I will?" Mary sputtered. "I don't recall having offered, nor you having asked."

"I don't need to ask," Matthew said easily. "I trust you have no objection to commencing the hunt at my side, Cousin?"

"Now wait just a minute. I object to being told what to do without having any say, yes," Mary frowned.

"Then it seems to me that you need to learn that you don't always get a say," Matthew said, looking at her with a bored expression. "When shopping for clothes, you may make all the decisions that you wish. This is a hunt, Cousin Mary. It's for the men to decide what role everyone should play. Wouldn't you agree, Cousin Robert?"

Robert regarded his heir and his eldest daughter for several moments, then smirked. "Quite right, Matthew. Mary, you'll stand with Matthew for the first drive, then he can decide where you're to go after that."

Mary opened her mouth to speak, then decided against it and stalked away.

"Cousin Edith, Cousin Sybil, if you would do me the honour of your company, I'll seek you out later as we switch posts," Matthew smiled.

Edith smiled. Sybil nodded politely. Matthew joined the other men to retrieve a shotgun and ammunition.

"Cousin Matthew is settling in rather well, isn't he?" Edith said, joining Mary and Sybil as they waited for the men to prepare.

"Oh, shut up," Mary grumbled. "I shouldn't be surprised. To expect proper manners from someone like him is a tall order indeed."

Matthew walked over to the front of the group and called for attention. Robert said a few words to announce the beginning of the hunt, and Matthew took the horn from Lynch and blew it loudly. The men set out for their posts, the women and servants following behind.

"Where would you like for me to stand?" Mary sneered as they reached Matthew's first position. "Or should I merely take off my clothes, fall to my knees and await your command?"

"You can't seriously be angry with me over what I said back there?" Matthew hissed, loading his shotgun and frowning at her. "I only said that to ensure we would be paired together, otherwise your father would have sent you off with someone else!"

"Perhaps I'd prefer it!" Mary shot back. "Better to stand with some old foggy than a man who thinks I don't deserve a say!"

"I never said that you don't deserve a say!" Matthew said, keeping his voice low.

"Yes, you very well did!" Mary retorted.

"But I didn't mean it!" Matthew pleaded.

Shots rang out across the field. Mary shook her head and huffed in exasperation.

"Go on and shoot! That is what you're supposed to be doing, you know!" she said bitterly.

Matthew rolled his eyes at her. He looked up at the sky, aimed at nowhere in particular and shot. He lowered his shotgun, opened it, and reloaded. If it was possible for a man's hands to act petulantly, Matthew's were doing just that.

"Why don't you have a loader?" Mary asked with a frown. "Barnard would have found you one."

"I told him that I didn't need one," Matthew snapped, closing the shotgun. "I wanted to be alone with my wife, but apparently she's too furious with my fake chauvinism to care for my company."

Mary sighed and crossed her arms across her front. "Fine. I'll forgive you for your rude behaviour so long as you will admit it was totally uncalled for."

"I was putting on an act!" Matthew whined. "We're supposed to be opposed to each other, remember? If I'd asked you nicely to stand with me, everyone would have been suspicious!"

"Well, you should have warned me that you were going to say something so horrible!" Mary said pointedly.

"When was I supposed to do that?" Matthew exclaimed. "You didn't…" he took a deep breath. "You didn't come to me last night!"

"And if I had, would we have done much talking?" Mary countered.

Matthew's mouth fell open. He eventually smiled ruefully. "No, I suppose our tongues would have been too occupied for conversation."

Mary looked down and laughed. Matthew lowered his shotgun and stepped towards her.

"Don't!" she whispered, stepping away from him. "You can't kiss me! We're being watched! I'm sure of it!"

"How do you know I want to kiss you?" Matthew asked, a ridiculous grin on his face.

"I'm quite certain that kissing is only the beginning. Now, please, take another shot before people wonder why there is a decided lack of activity coming from your post," Mary said playfully.

Matthew smiled at her, then raised his shotgun again. This time, he waited for the servants in the distance to rouse the birds. The loud flap of wings filled the air. As one grouse peeled away from the others, Matthew aimed and fired, sending the bird down soundly.

"Well done!" Mary said in shock. "I thought you weren't very good at this?"

"It isn't overly hard, you know," Matthew smiled, opening his shotgun and hanging it on his arm.

"Good shot, Matthew!" Robert called from across the field. He waved and Matthew raised his hand in reply.

"Why don't you show your Papa how you've come around on me and give me a congratulatory kiss?" Matthew teased, still looking at Robert.

"Stop it!" Mary said, not looking at him. "We haven't much time before we need to join the others. What were you talking about last night, with the Estate books?"

"I took some notes," Matthew said quickly. "I'll have to show them to you, later. I can't quite explain it, but it's the numbers. They look too…clean. Many of the amounts are the same month to month."

"But that's not strange at all," Mary frowned. "We collect the same rent and usually have the same costs."

"It's not that," Matthew shook his head as they began to walk slowly. "There are certain expenses that, by their very nature, should fluctuate each month. But they don't, at least according to the books anyway. On paper, nothing's changed for years. There's something else. Did you know that your family uses five different banks in London?"

"Five? No, I wasn't aware. That seems rather high," Mary said.

"It is. One usually doesn't need more than one principal bank, maybe a second if they offer better terms. Five seems strange," Matthew said.

"Well, you can investigate yourself when we're in London for the Winter Season," Mary said. "They'll all be eager to take meetings with the new heir, and try and sway you to moving more of our holdings to them."

"That's a good idea," Matthew nodded. "In the meanwhile, I'll need to look into the income and expenses – visit some farms, perhaps some businesses in the Village. I want you to look at my notes first, but we'll have to do it in secret. If Robert saw me sharing such information with you, he'd be livid."

"I'll think of something," Mary said as they drew nearer to the rest of the group. "There are places in the house we can use where no one will find us. We just need to find the time."

Matthew nodded, then looked away as they reached the others.

"A fine shot, Matthew," Cora smiled. "Hopefully your luck continues."

"We'll see," Matthew nodded. "Cousin Edith, might I trouble you to stand with me next?"

"Of course, Cousin Matthew," Edith smiled.

"Stand in front of him," Mary said to her sister. "The way he shoots, it's the safest place to be."

Robert glanced at Cora pointedly, then announced the next drive would start in a few minutes time.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Crawley House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, October 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Molesley," Isobel smiled. "That will be all. Please see that we aren't disturbed."<p>

"Yes, Mrs. Crawley," the valet nodded, closing the door behind him as he left.

Isobel raised her hand and waited several moments. When the sound of Molesley's footsteps had faded down the hall, she turned and smiled to her guest.

"He's a lovely man," Isobel said. "But I am not under any illusions as to who actually pays his wages. Better to be certain before we discuss anything of a sensitive nature."

"I don't know whether to be impressed or scared," Mary smiled, sipping her tea. "I was concerned that we were corrupting you by recruiting you for this mission, but it seems you've taken to it like Sir Francis Walsingham."

Isobel chuckled. "I won't bother saying who that would make you. Now, about the latest assignment you've given me…"

"Yes," Mary nodded. "The supplies for the Cottage Hospital."

"The amounts you mentioned seemed quite high. Are you certain that's what's being spent?" Isobel asked.

"As certain as Matthew's notes can be," Mary shrugged. "It was the first number that jumped out at me. According to the Estate books, we spend almost as much on the small hospital in the Village as is spent at the Royal Infirmary in Manchester."

"So you remembered," Isobel smiled.

"Well, I recall how diligent you were about lowering costs," Mary blushed. "And how excited you were when you achieved your target."

"That was more glee about winning my bet with Reginald," Isobel grinned. "He thought that I couldn't lower our expenditures by more than 5 per cent."

"And you found 10," Mary nodded in recollection. "Matthew told me that you had Dr. Crawley pay for a rather lavish trip to London as your reward."

"Lavish for us," Isobel corrected her. "I doubt we spent anywhere near what the two of you did at the Midland while we were away."

Mary sipped her tea, her face turning scarlet.

"Moving along, your instincts were correct, Mary. Whatever is listed in those books, it's not being spent on supplies. I spoke with several of the nurses and they say they've barely enough each month. They usually have to ration and conserve a bit in the days before the next shipment comes in," Isobel said.

"But that doesn't make any sense," Mary frowned. "Where is all of the money going if it isn't going to buy supplies?"

"I suppose the other question is whether the money is actually being spent," Isobel said.

"How so?" Mary asked.

"It's the books, Mary. All they are is a record of income and expenses, usually based on invoices and receipts. It isn't as though the accountant who maintains the books inspects the actual supplies going into the hospital," Isobel said.

"Or the notes and coins used to purchase them," Mary mumbled.

"That's right," Isobel nodded. "Any record is only as good as the source that it's based upon. And if the source that it's based upon is wrong or false…"

"Then no one would discover the error unless they counted the money themselves," Mary finished.

"Exactly," Isobel nodded. "So the real question, I gather, is was the money recorded to have been spent on hospital supplies ever actually spent? And, if it was, what was it spent on? For I assure you, it wasn't spent on bandages and gauze and medicines."

Mary looked towards the window, her thoughts darkening. After the hunt, there was a three-hour break until dinner. After they'd both bathed and dismissed Anna and Thomas, she'd managed to sneak Matthew into the attics undetected. She wasn't completely surprised when, instead of immediately showing her his notes on the Estate books, he'd instead kissed her fiercely and lifted her on to an old desk. She knew she could have stopped him if she'd wanted to, but they hadn't made love for over three weeks, and when she undid his belt and trousers, his restraint snapped. After they both recovered, he showed her the different figures he'd seen, and the amount for hospital supplies practically leaped off the page.

It was Mary's idea to have Isobel look into the matter. Her mother-in-law had established a rapport with both Dr. Clarkson and the staff, and Isobel was usually at the hospital each day helping out or visiting with patients. She'd obtained the information easily enough, but it was not the answer that Mary was hoping for. If her Papa, James and Patrick had merely overspent and bought more supplies than was needed, that was easily corrected. It never occurred to Mary that the numbers themselves would be wrong.

"I assume that Lord Grantham would not know anything about this?" Isobel asked.

Mary turned back to her mother-in-law and shook her head. "I don't think I want to know how much Papa is involved in all of this. We're going to London next month. Matthew can go visit the banks personally and find out just how much of these records are in fact true."

Isobel nodded and sipped her tea.

Mary reached for her tea as well, hoping the hot liquid would give her some comfort. She'd always taken for granted that Downton Abbey was as profitable as necessary and that money was plentiful. If the amount spent on hospital supplies was wrong on the Estate books, what else was false?

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Milady," Anna said quietly as she came into the bedroom.<p>

"Anna," Mary smiled, turning around. "I didn't ring for you. What is it?"

"No, Milady," Anna said nervously. "I was told to tell you to go downstairs to the library. It's…well…it's Mr. Crawley that's asked for you."

"Mr. Crawley?" Mary frowned. She turned away and rose from her vanity. "Well, I suppose I'll have to go see what the heir presumptive wants."

"Actually, Milady, Mr. Crawley ordered that I…that I pick out an outdoor outfit for you," Anna said.

"The man presumes to dress me, now?" Mary exclaimed incredulously.

"Those are my instructions, Milady. You're to dress for riding and walking outdoors and go down and meet him in the library."

Mary rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, let's put something together then. With Papa gone to London for the rest of the week, I suppose that Mr. Crawley is the Master of the House."

Matthew heard the sharp sound of his wife's boots as she neared the library. He closed the book that he was reading and looked up as she came into the room. It took a great effort to not smile when he saw her.

"You summoned me, Cousin Matthew?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow. She could almost read the conflict inside of him. She had deliberately chosen a long grey skirt and matching plaid coat that Matthew had bought for her in Manchester. She'd completed the ensemble with a burgundy hat that she'd worn during one of their first dates. She knew Matthew would recognize the clothes immediately, and his response pleased her immensely.

"Yes, Cousin Mary," Matthew said professionally, his lip twitching. "I'm going to inspect the Mapes farm this afternoon. I understand that you know the way?"

"Yes, but so do Edith and Sybil," Mary said.

"Good. Lynch is saddling our horses. We'll leave once I've changed," Matthew said, walking past her into the Great Hall. Matthew went upstairs without another word. Mary looked over and noticed the figure of O'Brien, her Mama's lady's maid, disappearing downstairs.

"How did you know that O'Brien was listening in?" Mary asked as she allowed Diamond to slow down to a canter.

"I didn't, but I expected that someone was," Matthew said easily. "With your parents in London preparing for the Winter Season, it's entirely conceivable they would have left instructions to someone to keep an eye on us."

"You don't think they suspect anything, surely?" Mary asked.

"No, they probably wanted to make sure that we didn't fight," Matthew laughed. "Anyway, I couldn't risk going to your room to talk to you directly, so I had to send Anna."

"I doubt that this ride will be a secret. Even if you hadn't involved the servants, it would be impossible to avoid Carson and Lynch at the very least," Mary said.

"Well, I'll wait and see if your parents raise it with me when they return. I doubt your father will do much more than give me another warning about you without actually saying why I shouldn't be around you," Matthew said.

"I suppose I should be thankful that Papa still cares for the family reputation enough to not be able to call his own daughter a slut to other people," Mary rolled her eyes.

"Enough of that. What happened when you went to visit Cousin Violet?" Matthew asked.

"Granny said that Grandpapa always dealt with two banks – Lloyds and Westminster. He never held accounts anywhere else. He most certainly would not have put anything at the Royal Bank of Scotland. He was part of the government committee that stopped expansion of Scottish banks to the rest of England. I didn't tell her about all that you'd discovered," Mary said.

"Then it had to be James," Matthew said. "But how did he convince Robert to open accounts at three other banks? And what were they using them for?"

"You'll have to wait until next month to find out," Mary said. "It's too dangerous to ask Papa about it directly, and you can't take a trip to London by yourself without them wondering what business you have there."

Matthew nodded grimly. The Mapes farm loomed in the distance.

"Well, let's continue our visits here, then," he said, driving his horse forward. "We may as well get the true picture of what's going on here in Yorkshire before we start worrying about what we may discover in London."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, December 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You're not nervous about tomorrow, are you?" Robert smiled.<p>

"A little," Matthew admitted, sipping his brandy. "It was one thing to be the centre of attention at Downton, but I fear that a London Society party will be a different animal altogether."

"Don't worry, Matthew," Robert chuckled. "You'll be of great interest, of course. To the gentry, you're a refreshing novelty, and to the women, you're an eligible bachelor. It's normal that you'll feel as though all eyes are upon you. It was the same when I would come to London when I turned of age, and it's no different now."

"It's new to me, just the same," Matthew said. "Though I'm used to speaking to a room full of clients, for example, so seeing the various Earls and Viscounts won't be too intimidating."

"Well, surely you can't be intimidated by all the interested women," Robert added with a smirk.

Matthew frowned at the comment, not quite knowing how to respond, or why the Earl had made the remark.

"I want you to know that I understand the burden of being a bachelor. I've lived through that uncomfortable stage," Robert continued. "You've gone from being a typical young man in Manchester to now having sophisticated ladies practically swooning over you."

Matthew coughed. "I wouldn't say that anyone is swooning…"

"Don't be coy, Matthew. I may be old, but I'm not blind. I've seen how these young women look at you. You're young, your prospects are excellent and you're new. It's a heady combination, I assure you," Robert smiled.

"Cousin Robert, I would never do anything to endanger the family name or bring shame to our House…" Matthew stuttered.

"Oh my dear boy," Robert said in amusement. "No, you are not in question. As uncouth as this topic is, it is important. If it were up to Cora, we would be arranging for a proper lady for you to consider for your future Countess. But, I don't see the need for that yet. A man should enjoy his youth."

Matthew stared at his empty glass. He dared not look at the Earl, lest he betray his fury, or his embarrassment.

'_I have a proper lady, you fool! I have a wife!'_

"I know that you already are familiar with the need for discretion. Lord Merton informed me that he uncovered no evidence of any relationship of yours in Manchester. No dalliances at university or seductions at your law office. Usually rumours and gossip are quite easy to uncover, but he found nothing," Robert said.

"I'm glad," Matthew replied.

"Yes, exactly!" Robert laughed. "I'm sure you've had your fair share of indulgences, but you've been wise enough to keep them out of sight."

"Would you mind terribly if I did not respond to that?" Matthew asked.

"Of course not," Robert laughed again. "Really, I believe I already have my answer."

Matthew kept looking at his empty glass. _'If only you knew, Lord Grantham…'_

"This isn't a trap," Robert smiled. "I'm not out to tease or scold you. I genuinely understand your privileged position, and the desire to take full advantage of it. It isn't openly discussed among our sort of people, but it's quite accepted that young gentlemen of our set have certain…entitlements."

"I suppose that I should thank you for your understanding," Matthew said, trying not to grit his teeth.

"Don't thank me yet," Robert smirked. "While affairs are bound to happen, and it is wise to get these types of urges out of your system, there are certain precautions that you should take. I know this is not the topic you wish to discuss with me, but I assure you that it is for your own good."

Matthew could only nod. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the preposterous direction this conversation was going. He wished that Mary had not already retired with her mother and sisters. At this point, he'd even be grateful if Cousin Violet or his own mother were to walk in and interrupt. But Violet was staying at Painswick House, her daughter's home, and Matthew's mother was back at Crawley House.

"You may be tempted to sample numerous…delicacies…when the opportunities present themselves, and I warn you, those opportunities will present themselves quite quickly. I would recommend though that it be best if you limit yourself to a few select women. The fewer there are, the easier it will be to maintain discretion and their silence," Robert said offhandedly.

Matthew kept himself composed while his stomach lurched several times. A few select women?

"I'll leave the rest to you. Just remember to be careful. Indulge your desires as much as you wish. You'll find that nothing loosens inhibitions more than knowing that you'll one day be an Earl. Women can be just as shallow as men in that regard. They like the idea of having conquered a man with a title," Robert smiled wistfully. "That way, once you marry and your wild days are behind you, you can treat your wife in a proper fashion, as I did with Cora."

Matthew set aside his empty brandy snifter and reached for a glass of water. Truthfully, his lust had only grown stronger after Mary had become his wife. While he'd of course found her attractive in the early days of their courtship, he desired her far more fiercely after he grew to know her. There was something about knowing he was spending the rest of his life with Mary that caused him to become far more…imaginative in that area.

"What about the entail?" Matthew asked, his voice a harsh whisper. "There is that clause…"

Robert smiled a Machiavellian grin and chuckled.

"Any woman that you choose for your diversions should not be foolish enough to expect a future with you," Robert shook his head. "And to those who do, they need not know about the morality clause. A proper lady who aspires to be Countess of Grantham would never demean herself so sordidly. I know that some would think that bedding a servant or a commoner would be more convenient, but I see no reason to limit yourself to a particular class. After all, it isn't as though you're going to broadcast your escapades, so whichever poor chap ends up marrying these women need not know the actual depth of their experience. Just consider it that you're doing them a service – helping to teach them the ways of the world, while also guarding their secrets."

If Matthew could have punched the Earl of Grantham in the face, he would have. The very suggestion was an insult to Matthew and to these faceless women that Robert assumed would readily sate Matthew's desires.

"I wonder what would have happened if I'd arrived at Downton with a wife," Matthew said calmly, his chest tightening in anger.

"We would have welcomed her, of course," Robert nodded. "We aren't so rigid in our ways, you know. So long as she conformed with the terms of the entail, she would have plenty of time to learn to be a proper Countess. It isn't as though you, a fine young man with his head on straight, would ever consider marrying a woman who wasn't pure, so there would be no concerns."

Matthew took a large swallow of water.

"But we're lucky in that you aren't married. Now, you can enjoy all of the benefits of your new status, and you have years to decide on the type of lady you wish for a bride one day. I'd say that I found you at exactly the most opportune time," Robert smiled.

Matthew watched the Earl finish his drink and rise from the table. Matthew did the same.

"That's enough for me. I'm going up," Robert nodded. "Oh, just remember, Matthew – the Berkeley Hotel. Lovely view of Hyde Park, close to Belgravia, sophisticated and discreet."

Matthew could only stare blankly as the Earl of Grantham left the dining room. The party at Painswick House tomorrow evening, when Matthew would have his official introduction to Society, now scared him even more than before.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, London, England, June 1887<strong>_

* * *

><p>Robert sat back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He took a long swig from his bottle of champagne, then realized it was empty. He placed it lazily back in the ice bucket and laughed.<p>

"Another one?" James cackled from his chair across the room. "That's in addition to all the wine and brandy you had at dinner."

"And yet I'm still more alert than you are," Robert teased.

"No, you're not," James shook his head, his own bottle of champagne still sitting on ice. He'd had two glasses and left the rest. "So what did you think of this year's crop?"

"I think I'm glad that I don't need to find anyone until next year at the earliest," Robert sighed. "They all look the same, talk the same, act the same. It's entirely boring."

"What do you care?" James huffed. "Won't Cousin Arthur simply tell you who you should marry?"

"No," Robert said defensively. "Papa says I can choose my own wife. He just wants me to be aware of certain requirements. Anyway, that's not a topic for tonight. I have something else on my mind."

"So do I," James smiled. "Did you notice Phyllis' new dress? She wore it tonight just for me, you know?"

Robert laughed as he looked at his boastful cousin. He had to admit that although James was younger than he was, he seemed to already be content with the direction of his life. He was already engaged to Phyllis Astoria, Dickie Grey's cousin. She was a plain girl, entirely unremarkable. Robert always told him he could do much better, but James was having none of that.

"Good for you, James. But Phyllis isn't here, is she?" Robert smiled.

"No, she went home hours ago. Why are we here? Shouldn't we just be staying at Grantham House?" James asked.

"Not tonight," Robert said.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Ah, right on time!" Robert smiled. He jumped off the bed and walked out into the outer room. James followed behind him, curious as to who this guest was, arriving so late in the evening.

"Lady Felicity!" James said in surprise as Robert showed his guest into the suite.

"James," Felicity Kane smiled. "Lovely to see you. Robert, this room is delightful!"

She walked around the room taking in the lavish décor.

"Let me show you the view," Robert smiled, taking her over to the window.

"Is that Hyde Park?" Lady Felicity said lightly as she looked out on to the grounds below, lit by streetlamps.

"It is," Robert nodded. "And Buckingham Palace is down the street. Imagine who must have stayed here. Perhaps even royalty."

"Royalty?" Lady Felicity laughed. "Surely not!"

"I don't see why not," Robert said. "We're here, aren't we?"

"Robert Crawley, you scoundrel," Lady Felicity smiled, slapping his chest lightly. "We're not royals."

"I'm the Viscount Grantham," Robert laughed, taking her hand and guiding her towards the bedroom. "And you can be my Countess."

Lady Felicity laughed, then released his hand. "I'm going to go and remove my hat," she declared, walking into the bedroom and closing the door behind her.

"What is she doing here?" James hissed.

"What does it look like?" Robert laughed at his cousin. "She's come to pay tribute to the future Earl of Grantham."

"This is wrong, Robert!" James frowned. "You can't have her here!"

"Why on Earth not?" Robert huffed in amusement. "I'm not the first gentleman to arrange a discrete affair with a lady, and believe me, she won't be my last! Are you scared of her?"

"N…no! I…I'm not scared!" James stuttered. "But why bother bringing me along, then?"

"Because I told her to invite a friend," Robert grinned. "And you should have a treat before you're shackled to Phyllis for the rest of your life."

"I don't want a 'treat'! You're just jealous!" James shot back. "Because we love each other! And you won't get that chance."

"Love?" Robert said bitterly. He huffed under his breath. This was quite tedious on his cousin's part. They used to be a team; they used to have fun together. Now his cousin was just an idle fool, willing to accept his fate without question. He should be grateful for Robert arranging this tryst for him. After all, he was his best friend, his older cousin and a Viscount. James was nothing without him.

"Now, I'm going to go and have my way with Lady Felicity," Robert declared, grinning widely. "Wait for her friend to arrive and let her in when she gets here. Order another bottle of champagne. Don't worry, they won't tell anyone. Have some fun and Phyllis will never know."

"I can't stay here for this," James shook his head. "It's not right."

"What's happened to you, man?" Robert frowned. "What happened to the two of us conquering the world together? You used to never back down from anything. You used to be fearless! Now you're just a whimpering coward. I'm beginning to wonder if Phyllis doesn't have you wearing her knickers the way you carry on."

"I'm not bedding some wench that I never met before!" James protested.

"She's hardly a wench," Robert laughed. "Fine, fine. Do what you like. But if you're going to leave, at least stay long enough to show her in. Send her to the bedroom if you don't want her. I'll find a use for her."

With that, Robert turned towards the bedroom. As he reached for the doorknob, there was a light knock on the door to the suite. Robert grinned at James.

"There, you see? Punctual. I like that in a lady. Oh, come on, James. I'll even go with you to let her in. Heaven forbid you should be alone with a woman," Robert grumbled, going to the door.

James followed timidly behind his cousin. He was confused and not quite sure what he wanted to do. Every instinct told him to flee.

Robert opened the door, a leering grin across his face. Felicity's friend was blonde and fair skinned, and Robert's eyes wandered down her figure. His mind was filled with what he intended to do with Felicity this evening, but the idea he had proposed about having both ladies together was intriguing him. He'd never even thought of the possibility until this evening. If his title alone could get Felicity to spread her legs for him, perhaps it could sway her and her friend to try something even more scandalous.

"Ah, you must be Lady Iris," Robert bowed. "Please come in."

She smiled at him and walked into the suite. Robert introduced her to James, who had composed himself enough to be charming once more. Robert was about to retire to the bedroom and see whether James would follow through with his threat to leave or whether the sight of the curvy Lady Iris would sway him to change his mind.

Another knock on the door caught their attention.

"Probably someone checking to see if we need anything," Robert smiled. "It will save us the call to order more champagne."

He and James went back to the door. Robert opened it swiftly, wanting to order his bottle and get back to Felicity.

All thoughts of debauchery drained away as quickly as the blood left Robert's face. His eyes widened and he thought they might burst from their sockets. His mind quickly raced with excuses and lies to explain what he was doing in a suite at the Berkeley Hotel, part of his suit strewn about the room, with James now cowering behind him, Iris standing in the living room without a chaperone and Felicity, who was most likely lying in bed naked waiting for him.

One hard glance from his visitor told Robert that it was futile to say anything, or resist what was to come.

"You two aren't nearly as clever as you think you are," Arthur Crawley snarled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, England, December 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"How are you holding up?" Sybil whispered.<p>

"I'm fine, darling. Spare me the walking around on eggshells. Some foolish gossip from one of these harpies is hardly going to make me cry," Mary smiled.

"Have you heard anyone say anything?" Edith asked.

"No," Mary shook her head. "There's been a number of curious glances, and a few whispered inquiries as to whether it's truly me or not, but that's it. There's bound to be talk after tonight, but it's not unexpected so I'm not troubled by it."

"Edith, Sybil," Cora called. "Come here, please. There are some people that I want you both to meet."

Mary rolled her eyes at her mother's deliberate omission.

Sybil looked at Mary with concern.

"It's all right. Go ahead," Mary smiled. "I'm going to go freshen up. I'm glad that Mama is keeping me away. It spares me having to talk to these boring toffs."

Sybil smiled kindly and left with Edith. Mary took a deep breath, then crossed the ballroom in the direction of the ladies' room.

Truthfully, she'd been pleasantly surprised by how little people seemed to be interested in her. She'd had a few awkward conversations with her former friends and acquaintances. They pretended that they didn't know she'd been away for the past two years. She pretended that nothing was new. It was a familiar masquerade that always took place during the Season, and Mary found herself settling into the steps quite easily.

Aunt Rosamund acted as though she was glad to see her. Never one to dwell on anything before figuring out how to turn it to her advantage, Aunt Rosamund was probably thinking that Mary's return, combined with Matthew's debut would make her party the talk of London for months to come. Still, after smiling through Mary's arrival, Aunt Rosamund was now mingling and chatting away, about as likely to be condemning Mary behind her back as anyone else would be.

The hallway leading to the bathroom was busy with servants carrying trays and guests moving about. Mary recognized Lady Sarah Kensington and two of her friends up ahead of her. She sighed. Of course _she_ would be here. Mary learned from Sybil that Lady Sarah had not married in the two years she'd been in Manchester. The woman likely had been holding on to the false hope that Patrick would marry her, and was now forced to make other plans.

"Have you seen her?" one of the other ladies asked as they turned a corner. Mary approached the wall and stopped.

"Sadly, I have. I don't know how she can afford that dress. Surely Lord Grantham isn't funding her shopping anymore?" Lady Sarah replied.

"Why do you suppose she came back? I'd rather die than show my face in London after that story got out."

"Isn't it obvious? Lord Grantham has a new heir. She probably heard about it and came back to get her hooks in him."

"Isn't he a bit too light skinned for her? I thought she had a taste for dark meat."

"She does, but she also needs a home, and money, and a life, and she's smart enough to know that only a proper husband can give her that. Once she's married, she can take on as many foreigners as she wants."

"If she had any chance with the new heir, we would have heard about it by now. Her parents can't possibly be in favour of such a match. They'd never approve it."

"She's probably desperate," Lady Sarah laughed. "No self respecting man will go near her unless they want to take her for a ride. With the new heir at Downton Abbey, she'll try and seduce him, get pregnant and force him to marry her to cover it all up. Either that or have her Papa buy her off."

"That's mad. You don't think any of that will work, do you?"

"Oh, I intend to make sure it doesn't," Lady Sarah laughed. "I've already met Matthew Crawley tonight, and I expect to get to know him very well by the time the week is over."

"Sarah! You can't be serious!"

"Why not? He's from Manchester, for God's sake! Do you think he's ever seen a woman before who has all of her teeth? Mark my words. He'll be begging me for it," Lady Sarah said confidently. "I may have lost Patrick, but I'll still be Countess of Grantham in the end."

Mary spun on her heel and walked away, her hands balled into fists, her stomach roiling and tears threatening to spill. She bypassed the ballroom and went straight to the foyer. She mumbled to Meade, Aunt Rosamund's butler, for her coat and gloves. Throwing them on, she ran out into the cold night, jumping into the first taxi she could find and ordering the driver to get her far away from Painswick House as fast as possible.

Matthew sighed in boredom. He fleetingly thought it may have been more efficient if he had written some generic information on note cards and passed them out to people as they came up to greet him. He had repeated the fact that he was from Manchester, that he used to practise law, that his mother was a nurse and his late father was a surgeon so many times that he didn't even bother saying his name before reciting the points.

The night had dragged on and his initial fear and trepidation over being examined, poked and prodded had long disappeared. Ultimately it didn't matter if he was charming or not, funny or not, clever or not, handsome or not. He was the heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham, and that meant he was invited to parties just like these without any further effort. While he did recognize he needed to ingratiate himself to these people to more easily gather information and possibly gain favours in the future, his debut was overall successful by the very fact he hadn't done anything embarrassing all evening. It seemed that once people acknowledged that he spoke English and could string together words greater than two syllables, they moved on to congratulating Robert and Cora and droning on about this or that. For once, the misguided bias of London towards Manchester was working in his favour.

"You're still on your feet, I see," Edith smiled as she came to his side.

"Barely," Matthew smirked. "But I haven't shamed the family as far as I know, so I suppose that's something."

"You've done fine," Edith nodded. "The general reaction is that you're nicer than Patrick and smarter than James. Heady praise."

"Then I'm elated," Matthew said wryly. "Although I must say that I haven't heard the most upstanding opinions on James and Patrick."

"They weren't popular," Edith sighed. "James was rather ruthless and Patrick was rather cruel, when he wanted to be. He wasn't always like that, you know. James pushed him and pushed him and he followed along, hoping for approval that never came. By himself, Patrick could be quite…nice."

"It must have been a great shock, when he passed," Matthew said.

"It was," Edith nodded. "Losing both of them, well, it put our future in danger. For all of their faults, James and Patrick were family. Downton would have survived through them, and the rest of us along with them."

Matthew looked at Edith's faraway expression curiously. "I understand that Cousin Mary was promised to Patrick, before she left Downton."

"She was," Edith nodded. "They never loved each other. He thought he cared about her, but I don't know if he truly did. She never cared about him. She was just doing her duty."

"That sounds rather sad. I may be naïve, but I always assumed that love should be important in any marriage," Matthew said.

"You are naïve, Cousin Matthew," Edith laughed ruefully. "Love has its uses, but it's more important to be secure, to know that you'll be taken care of, to do what's right. Mary didn't love Patrick, but she would have married him, for our sake as much as hers."

"So after Mary left, did it fall to you to take up this duty, then?" Matthew asked.

"I would have," Edith nodded. "If I'd been given the chance, I would have taken him like a shot. But we didn't discuss it, at least not clearly, anyway. Patrick's engagement to Mary was never official, and after she left, he wasn't thinking about marriage. Then he died."

"Well, here's to second chances, and perhaps not being bound by duty," Matthew said, raising his glass.

Edith looked at him for a moment before raising her glass in reply.

"Edith, Cousin Matthew," Sybil nodded as she came up to them. "Have either of you seen Mary?"

"No," Edith shook her head. "I thought that she was staying over here. She isn't going back to Grantham House with us."

"I know she isn't, but I can't find her," Sybil said. "I was hoping to say goodbye before we left."

"She must be around here somewhere," Matthew said, scanning the room. "Regardless, you'll see her tomorrow at dinner. Both of you enjoy your evening and I'll see you both tomorrow as well."

They said their goodbyes and Matthew walked briskly from the room. He hadn't seen Mary for some time as well, and the fact that Sybil hadn't found her caused him to frown in concern. They'd agreed that she would stay at Painswick House tonight so that it would be easier for them to meet up tomorrow to visit the banks together. She would have told him if she was retiring early, which meant there was a very good possibility she was no longer at Painswick House.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Murray's Night Club, Soho, London, England, December 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>For a supposedly heathen nightclub, the ballroom is actually quite elegant and nice. It's all high ceilings and polished floors, huge pillars and chandeliers. The large band has been playing tangos for most of the time that she's been here, and ironically she's had to refuse four different invitations to dance.<p>

When she first arrived, there was a cabaret show on stage, but she ignored it and took an empty table, ordering a drink without looking at the waiter. Her mood has kept most from taking the empty seat across from her and the only time the staff approach her is to refill her vodka. If she was thinking straight, she'd probably enjoy the music and the entertainment, and perhaps even consider dancing, but she's not thinking straight and the only man she wants to dance with isn't here, and so she drinks and broods and goes over the cackling of Lady Sarah Kensington and her witches in her mind. Their voices give way to the disappointing glances of her parents, which then fade to the sad eyes of her father-in-law, and then it becomes too much so she shakes her head, orders another drink and begins the cycle again.

"Can I interest you in a tango?"

"I don't tango. Go away," she grumbles, staring at her glass.

Her annoyance spikes exponentially as she notices the chair across from her move and the daft man trying to dazzle her sits down.

"Are you certain? You look like the kind of woman who dances very well."

"I never said that I can't dance. I said that I don't, as in I don't dance with the likes of you. Now get up and go bother someone else," she spits, still glaring down at the table.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, love. I made a vow that I would only dance with you for the rest of my life."

Her eyes bulge as her inebriated brain processes the voice and the words and she looks up and he's there smiling at her. She's crying and laughing and gasping all at once and he somehow manages to come across to her, pick her up from her chair and turn her on to the dance floor, just as the band plays a slow waltz.

She's crying into his shoulder and holding on to him desperately. They're much closer than normal dance partners should be, but it's past midnight and they're in a nightclub full of strangers and she doesn't care who sees them anyway. He's here and she's in his arms and nothing else matters.

"The next time that you wish to terrify your husband half to death, just threaten not to make love to me for a month. At least in that case, I'll know where you are," he whispers, kissing the top of her head.

"How…how did you find me?" she mumbles.

"Meade mentioned you'd left earlier. Thankfully the taxi that you took circled back to Painswick House looking for another fare, and after describing you to the driver, he took me straight here. It took a few quid to get through the front door. Why did you come here?" Matthew asks.

"The taxi driver brought me here. Apparently it's the new hot spot to go late at night. I just said I needed to go somewhere for a drink. He said with what I was wearing, a pub was out of the question," Mary replies.

"Thank God for the propriety of taxi drivers. But this is still Soho. I may need to go to Church tomorrow to confess to all the tarts I saw on the way here," Matthew groans.

"What's the bother? You're married to one," Mary sighs.

"Mary," Matthew shakes his head.

"I always knew it was hopeless. This idea of yours to redeem me somehow. But tonight I realized that none of it will make a bit of difference. You could smash the entail tomorrow and take me as your wife and it won't matter. My story's still out there, and always will be. In Manchester we could have outlived it, but not here. London never forgets these things," Mary says, her voice catching as fresh tears well up.

"Where is all of this coming from?" Matthew asks. "Did someone say something to you tonight?"

"No, no one would have the gall to say it to my face," Mary replies. "But I overheard Lady Kensington go on about it with her stupid friends, and they mentioned you, and how they thought the only reason I was back was to seduce you."

"Well, I would not put up a fight if that were the case," Matthew smiles.

"But that's the problem. Even if we succeed in being able to reveal our marriage, my reputation will still taint you. In Society, in the House of Lords one day, it will never leave us alone," Mary says bitterly.

"But you'll still be the Countess of Grantham, no matter what anyone says," Matthew answers firmly. "And no one will be able to take that away from you, not ever again. That's why all of this matters, Mary. You should know better than anyone just how Society works. They're all talk and gestures and propriety, but all that matters is a title, not the person behind it. They may gossip about you for the rest of your life, but once you're Countess of Grantham, they won't be able to refuse you anything."

"You're either the bravest man I know, or the most foolish," Mary sighs, looking up at him.

"I'll settle for either so long as I'm still your husband," Matthew smiles, leaning down and kissing her.

"Take me away from here, darling," Mary smiles back. "Let's find a hotel somewhere. I don't care, I just need to be with you."

Matthew grins. "As you can clearly tell, my body wants to do exactly what you suggest. However, you're supposed to be sleeping at Aunt Rosamund's tonight, so we need to get you back to Painswick House, otherwise you'll be sequestered tomorrow and that will throw us off."

He takes her hand and walks off the dance floor. He pays the bill for her drinks and they move outside into a waiting taxi. They spend the ride back to Painswick House kissing passionately, shielded slightly by the darkness of the car, and the driver's embarrassment. When they reach Painswick House, he sits back so he cannot be seen from the house, and once Mary is safely inside, he returns to Grantham House, paying the taxi driver for his assistance and his discretion.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Royal Bank of Scotland, Islington High Street, London, England, December 1913<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Mr. Crawley, a pleasure."<p>

"Thank you for seeing me. My cousin, Lady Mary," Matthew nodded towards Mary sitting in the seat next to him.

"Lady Mary," the banker nodded. "What can I do for you today?"

"As I said in my earlier letter, I just wanted to come by and familiarize myself with your branch and your operations. I'm doing a bit of a tour of banks that we deal with in London, so that I'm caught up and can speak intelligently with Lord Grantham about our financial affairs," Matthew smiled.

"A very worthy objective," the banker laughed. "Well, I can certainly arrange a tour for you, and we have several products that perhaps you may be interested in – investments, savings plans and so on. We also have relationships with insurance markets that we can discuss as well."

"Excellent," Matthew nodded. "I can't make any decisions without Lord Grantham's input, of course, but the more I know about your bank, the better."

"Certainly," the banker nodded. "We would very much enjoy welcoming you and your family back as clients."

"I'm sorry?" Mary said.

"Oh, did I say something wrong? Forgive me, please. I just want both of you to know that we value your business and we feel we can offer you products and services that may convince you to come back to us," the banker said confidently.

Matthew glanced at Mary, then looked back at the banker.

"We certainly are prepared to take it under advisement," Matthew smiled. "Besides our savings account, did we maintain any other holdings here? I apologize, but my understanding of the Estate is rather limited."

"Oh, don't apologize for that, Mr. Crawley!" the banker laughed. "You're already well ahead of most of my clients! You know, we often suggested to Mr. James and Mr. Patrick that they expand their portfolio with us. It seemed a shame that the money kept here wasn't earning as much interest as we thought it could."

"Well, Cousin James and Cousin Patrick were always careful about money," Mary smiled. "They wanted to keep everything as liquid as possible."

"They certainly did, yes!" the banker agreed. "We were sorry to lose the account, and without any explanation either, not that you have any obligation to give us one, of course."

"Well, that's all in the past," Matthew smiled. "It's incredible how long it's been since our family last banked here, isn't it?"

"Yes, which is why I'm quite pleased to see both of you here. Two years is a long time, but hopefully we can begin a new era. To have Lord Grantham and his family bank with us would be an honour," the banker nodded vigorously.

"You've given us a great deal to think about," Matthew nodded. "We don't have time for a full tour today, but I will speak to Lord Grantham about what a pleasant visit we had and we'll certainly be back to discuss this further."

"Splendid! Have a wonderful day, Mr. Crawley, Lady Mary, Happy Christmas to both of you."

Mary and Matthew left the bank branch quickly. Matthew hailed a taxi and they got inside, asking to be driven to the next bank on their list.

"Matthew," Mary said nervously once they were on their way.

"I know," he said, squeezing her hand. "James and Patrick closed the account shortly after you were sent to Manchester."

"But what about the numbers in the Estate books? And the bank statements?" Mary asked.

"Clearly they're false. The money that is listed as being at The Royal Bank of Scotland no longer exists," Matthew said grimly.

"But what if it's the same problem at the other banks? Or even at two or three of them?" Mary asked.

"Let's complete our meetings to be sure. But, if the books and statements are wrong, then there is a very good chance that the Grantham Estate may be close to bankruptcy," Matthew said.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, December 1913**_

* * *

><p>"The Countess of Sunderland and Lady Sarah Kensington," Carson announced, his deep voice carrying across the large parlour.<p>

Of the two dozen guests mingling with each other, three people in particular turned in surprise and arched their eyebrows suspiciously at Carson's announcement and the arrival of the latest two women.

"Who invited her?" Mary whispered, already knowing the answer.

"Which one?" Sybil asked.

"Lady Sarah," Mary said bitterly.

"She's accompanying her mother," Edith said.

"Fine, then who invited Countess Sunderland?" Mary retorted.

"Mama did," Edith replied. "You know that they are friends."

"I suppose they are in the loosest definition of the word," Mary sighed, still looking across the room as Lady Sarah smiled and greeted a group of older women. "But while they were invited to Aunt Rosamund's party, I did not expect them to make the cut for this evening."

"They probably wouldn't have, if not for…well, you know…" Sybil said quietly.

Mary turned to her youngest sister. "Sybil, what are you thinking?"

"Well, you can't be surprised that Mama is discreetly arranging for young, unattached ladies to meet Cousin Matthew. Tonight's smaller numbers allows for more time to have a…meaningful…conversation with him than Aunt Rosamund's grand affair," Sybil explained, blushing slightly.

"Oh, God," Mary rolled her eyes. "Is that what tonight is all about? Giving Cousin Matthew time to appraise whichever swooning, overheated woman suits his fancy? That's pathetic."

"It's not all that tonight's about," Edith said easily. "But I wouldn't be surprised if it was on the minds of several ladies here, and their mothers."

"Did Papa agree to this?" Mary asked.

"You know that Mama wouldn't do anything formal without his approval. But this is a more casual event, so she has greater power. Tonight is just an initial step, to feel out what Cousin Matthew's attitude is towards finding a future Countess, and what his standing is among Society, now that he's effectively been presented." Edith replied.

Mary looked over at Edith curiously.

"Don't look at me like that," Edith rolled her eyes. "I haven't made up my mind about him yet, though I don't dislike him as much as you do. And no, for your information, Mama has not encouraged me towards him either."

Mary turned away and looked back at Lady Sarah.

"Judging from the comments I heard at Aunt Rosamund's, I'd say that Cousin Matthew is practically the talk of the town," Sybil shrugged.

Mary did not reply, her eyes moving from Lady Sarah and her patronising smile to the other side of the room where Matthew was standing with her father.

"Of all the days for them to stage something like this," Mary muttered to herself.

* * *

><p>"Who invited her?" Robert frowned.<p>

"I'm sorry?" Matthew asked.

"Lady Sunderland; Sheila," Robert said, turning back to Matthew. "She's an acquaintance of the family, but I do not consider her close enough to be invited to tonight's more private function."

"Perhaps Cousin Cora is not aware of your feelings on the subject," Matthew suggested.

"No, I expect that she wouldn't be," Robert sighed.

"Well, even for a smaller event, it should not be hard for you to avoid speaking with her, if that is your objective," Matthew smiled encouragingly.

"Oh, don't worry about me, my boy," Robert smiled. "I'll be fine. Besides, it's more likely that Cora invited her to ensure that her daughter would attend for your sake."

Matthew blinked.

"I thought that Cousin Cora would be…reserved…in making such plans?" Matthew mumbled.

"This is her being reserved," Robert chuckled. "If I allowed it, she'd have a line of ladies and debutantes waiting in the sitting room for you."

Matthew looked down and smiled wryly.

"A few words to Lady Sarah should not trouble you," Robert said, patting Matthew on the shoulder. "And who knows? Perhaps you'll consider her worthy for a more detailed conversation another time?"

Matthew's eyes widened.

"There's no need to speak on it any further," Robert said calmly. "Just keep what I said before in mind. And, if she isn't to your taste, don't make a grand spectacle of it."

"Right," Matthew said, eyes glancing about the room.

* * *

><p>Truthfully, Matthew was growing more comfortable and familiar with these social events. It had now been months since he'd left Manchester and settled in with his new family, and the routine of each day had become expected, if not entirely welcome. He was used to Thomas attending to him in the morning before breakfast and in the evening before he retired. He was used to smiling constantly and having strangers laugh at his jokes far more than they should have. He was even used to the idea that Grantham House, a stately manor in one of the most desired neighbourhoods in London, was only opened for a few months a year, and sat empty otherwise.<p>

The only thing he could never get used to was being in the constant presence of his wife and ignoring her.

Matthew confirmed quickly after arriving in Yorkshire that his life with Mary in Manchester was far better. There, as now, he had to pretend that he was not married to her when they were in public. The difference of course was that, in Manchester, they rarely saw each other in public anyway, so the illusion was much easier to maintain. Whenever he did see Mary, either at the hospital or walking between his parents' home and that of Lady Philomena, the promise of a private conversation, kiss, or passion, made the distance between them far easier to endure. At Downton Abbey, and here in London, he could look at her, even talk to her, as much as he wished, but that only made the imaginary wall between them seem all the more cruel.

He also suspected that she was deliberately teasing him to a degree. While Mary would not want to prolong their agony on purpose, but she did go to great effort to wear something linked to him at all times. Whether it was a dress, or jewellery, a hat or gloves, Matthew noticed each day that she had something of theirs on her body. It became a silent contest between them, and it was driving him mad. Once, she had come to dinner wearing an outfit that was entirely foreign to him, and he was secretly glad for it. He only discovered much later in the evening that she'd been wearing a pair of lacy drawers that he'd bought for her on their anniversary.

As he looked over at her chatting with Edith and Sybil, he again felt the pang of regret in his stomach. Her burgundy dress fit her perfectly, and the red plumed feather in her hair was sophisticated and playful all at once. It was entirely new to him. He liked it right at first sight. If they were back in Manchester, that outfit would not survive the night. Here in London, all he could do was look, and only surreptitiously at that.

It was not the lack of lovemaking with his wife that was confounding him, and truly his rational mind knew that he was being overly dramatic and petulant about their situation, but he was living part of the life he wanted for her, and had to hold back otherwise. He found that he enjoyed spending time with Mary and her sisters, that the four of them got along quite well all in all, and having to detach himself from their companionship was disheartening.

"Mr. Crawley."

Matthew turned away from Mary and saw lace and chiffon, pale skin and a set of mischievous eyes on a thin face framed by blonde hair. He suppressed his initial instinct to flee, and instead called upon his now overused polite smile.

"Lady Sarah," he nodded. "You're looking well."

"Thank you," Lady Sarah said demurely. "And how are you enjoying the Winter Season? I did not have the chance to speak with you properly at Lady Rosamund's party."

"I'm managing," Matthew said. He could feel eyes in the room upon them, and he silently counted the seconds required before he could leave her presence without being rude.

"I would be more than happy to make things easier for you," Lady Sarah smiled playfully. "I'm quite used to helping the Crawley family. Patrick was a dear friend, God bless him."

Matthew swallowed.

"He must have been quite lucky to have your friendship," Matthew said carefully. The scandalous tale that Mary had told him about Lady Sarah and Patrick's affair rang in his mind.

"You flatter me, Mr. Crawley," Lady Sarah giggled coquettishly. "But Patrick did find me to be useful to him. It would please me if you could say the same."

"I…I shall take that under consideration," Matthew nodded.

"For instance," Lady Sarah said, stepping towards him and lowering her voice. "You may not know many of the people you've met this week, but I do. I know everyone; everyone who's anyone. I could assist you in determining who's acquaintance you should value, and who you should be wary of. You're new here, and everyone loves the new boy. But, you need to be careful, Mr. Crawley. There are many among them who would look to use you, who are concerned only for their benefit than your own."

Matthew's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you are benevolent enough to help me understand who these false friends are?"

"It would be my privilege to help you in any way that you desire," Lady Sarah said, arching her eyebrow at him. "Why, you're surrounded by impostors in this very room."

"Indeed?" Matthew asked. He frowned slightly as Lady Sarah raised her gloved hand and touched his chin, angling his view away from her and across the room.

"Your cousin, Lady Mary," Lady Sarah whispered, Matthew's eyes falling on Mary across the room. "She is not to be trusted. She is a harlot and very dangerous. Not only did she cause a scandal with a foreigner, breaking poor Patrick's heart in the process, but she also played with the Duke of Crowborough's affections, among others. She will go to any length in the pursuit of her own pleasure. I came out with her, you see, and I've seen her tricks, and the damage wrought by them."

Matthew's pulse jumped. He very seldom raised his voice in anger towards a woman, but Lady Sarah was pushing his tolerance without even knowing it.

"I shall thank you not to insult my family, of which Mary is a part," Matthew growled. "Your candour is surprising, but I shall make my own assessments of others, thank you."

"Of course you will," Lady Sarah smiled, completely unfazed. "But as a solicitor, you are well aware of the value of attention to detail, of researching thoroughly before making a decision. Once you've done your due diligence, I'm sure you'll find that some of us are better suited for your purposes than others."

"I shall be mindful of that," Matthew nodded. "Excuse me, Lady Sarah. I have business with Lord Grantham. Enjoy your evening."

"I already have," Lady Sarah replied, smiling back at him. "Until our next meeting, Mr. Crawley."

Matthew nodded politely to her and walked briskly in Robert's direction. He noticed numerous people, including Lady Sutherland and Cora watching his exchange with Lady Sarah. He kept his expression calm as he walked away. He needed to get to Mary, but once again, attention was too focused upon him to allow for that.

* * *

><p>"Lady Mary."<p>

Mary turned away from the window and blinked in surprise. Sybil and Edith had been called away by their Mama, once again leaving Mary alone. She'd retreated to the window when she saw Lady Sarah looking at Matthew with a predator's smile. If this was Manchester, she'd walk over and slap the daylights out of her for bating her eyelashes at her husband. But this wasn't Manchester, and he was only her cousin, and she was the shunned daughter of the Earl of Grantham and so she had to stay away.

"Larry," Mary nodded slightly. "Hello."

"Hello," Larry Grey smiled widely. He deliberately glanced down her body. "You're looking very well."

"Thank you," Mary said tightly. The charlatan had the nerve to stare openly at her figure.

"I must apologize for our lack of contact in Manchester," Larry said pleasantly. "I'm afraid that Papa was not very welcoming to you. I kept expecting to see you at the house at some point, but it seems you were kept at my aunt's for the duration of your stay."

"I was, yes," Mary nodded. "But, those days are over now."

"And not a moment too soon," Larry laughed. "It must be strange being back in London after all this time. I've been told that after so many Seasons since you're debut, one becomes more of a survivor than anything else."

"I'm faring perfectly well," Mary replied. "I talk to my parents as little as possible, and they do the same. So far, it's working wonderfully."

"I sometimes wish that I could say the same," Larry chuckled. "Lately all I seem to be hearing about from Papa is this lady or that lady and how well suited she would be for me."

"Your father must have high hopes," Mary said, wondering why he was bothering to even talk to her. No one else was.

"He does," Larry nodded. "And he means well, of course. But, I think I'm quite capable of choosing my own wife."

"Well, good luck with that," Mary smiled, hoping their conversation had reached its conclusion.

"What are your plans tomorrow?" Larry asked.

"Pardon?" Mary blurted, taken aback at his question. "I have business to attend to," she managed.

"That sounds mysterious," Larry smiled. "Can I interest you in coming to the National Gallery? There's a new exhibition that I'm quite interested to see."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to run afoul of your father, not to mention numerous other members of Society," Mary deflected, her stomach seizing at the very idea of walking out with Larry Grey.

"Don't worry about him," Larry smirked. "I told you. I'm my own man."

"You're being rather forward, Larry," Mary said tightly, forcing a smile.

"Well I expect that you're tired of the game at this point, aren't you, Mary?" Larry smiled. "It's far easier to get to the point, isn't it? We both have something we can offer to the other, and the sooner we come to an understanding, the better."

Mary blinked. She couldn't believe her ears.

"Larry, we haven't spoken in years. I doubt that we have a proper foundation for the type of arrangement that you are suggesting," Mary said.

"On the contrary," Larry said. "I think that matches us up perfectly. I can't marry you and you can't hope to marry someone of my standing. That leaves us with another role that you are more than capable of filling."

Mary's lips pursed into a thin line.

"There will be gossip, of course," Larry continued. "Someone like me can't take a mistress without inviting all manner of chatter. I assure you though, I'll be able to handle it. And of course, you need not worry. Any attack against your reputation would seem to be flogging a dead horse."

"A rather generous offer, Larry," Mary smiled coldly. "However, I'll have to decline. For one thing, I'm not anyone's mistress. For another, I certainly wouldn't be yours."

Mary took a step towards him and whispered into his ear.

"You're not man enough for me."

She walked away from him, gritting her teeth behind her closed lips as she seethed.

* * *

><p>"Mama's gone up," Mary said as she came into the darkened sitting room. Her father did not even look away from the fireplace to acknowledge her.<p>

"Good night, Papa," Mary said after several moments. She rolled her eyes as she turned for the door.

"I know that today was your birthday," Robert said softly. "I'm not so heartless as to forget that, you know."

Mary turned slowly back towards him. "No, you're not. Just heartless enough not to say anything about it, apparently."

Robert finally turned his head and looked up at her.

"I can't wish you well in good conscience, Mary," he said calmly. "Why are you here? You've had your grand return, thrown our entire House askew. For months, you've done whatever you wanted, regardless of my orders or your mother's entreaties. For what purpose? Just to rile us all up? If you didn't like Manchester, then what would please you? We offered to send you to America! If you want to go somewhere else, then name it. I'd pay to send you anywhere if you would just stop this madness."

Mary took a deep breath, her expression clouding over as fury boiled within.

"How could I possibly walk away from the unique treatment that I receive from you and Mama?" Mary said coldly.

"We gave you everything," Robert said, the volume and tone of his voice rising. "Every bauble and gown, every luxury since you were a child. All I asked in return was that you followed the rules. It was all for your own good. Patrick would have been good to you, but you threw that away for a meaningless tryst. Now, you expect the world to once again bend to your will? I see that Manchester did not humble you at all. Your impertinence is astonishing. I would have been well within my rights to have you thrown out when you dared to return. I've allowed you to stay and resume your old life and to what end? I couldn't pay a gentleman to accept you now."

"What if it wasn't true?" Mary challenged. "Did you ever consider that? Did you ever forget your pathetic ego long enough to wonder whether James and Patrick were even telling you the truth about me? It isn't as though you got along, and yet you were all on the same side when it came to what happened."

"Do not mistake three strong willed men for being at odds with each other, Mary," Robert warned, rising from the sofa and turning towards her. "Besides, they produced witnesses. What reason could I possibly have to doubt the word of four men?"

"I'm your daughter! That was your bloody reason!" Mary shouted. "They told you a story and you believed them! You had your mind made up before I even entered the library that morning. You assumed that I was nothing but a pretty face with a penchant for rebellion; that I would let a man I'd just met into my bed, with no regard for my own self worth or my family name."

Robert frowned and looked away.

Mary stepped forward and pressed further.

"One month," she continued, "For almost one month you kept me locked up in my room like a prisoner. You did nothing to investigate their lies. Not one finger raised in my defence. I left for Manchester so I wouldn't have to stay and watch you and your precious heirs destroy my home. But, they're gone now, Papa. The distinguished gentlemen that you spent so much time grooming to carry on your legacy are gone and I'm here."

"Don't you dare speak ill of James and Patrick!" Robert sneered, causing her to recoil slightly. "I may have lost them, but Matthew is here now, and you won't get any further with him than you have with me. You've seen how the two of you fight. What do you suppose will happen when he inherits my title? Do you think you'll have a place at Downton for as long as he's alive? No, Mary. He'll find a proper wife one day, and she won't tolerate you in our home. Your sisters will be married off and gone away, and you'll have nothing and no one, all because of your own stubbornness. Your path is set, Mary. Nothing can change that now."

"The world is changing, Papa," Mary said, turning away from him. "Be careful that you don't get left behind."

It took all of her strength to walk normally out of the room and across the foyer to the stairs. She reached her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She fought back the tears as she pulled the cord for Anna. She wondered if she had any tears left where her father was concerned.

Mary was able to compose herself and act as though nothing had happened as Anna helped her prepare for bed. However, once she was alone in her bedroom, she started to feel fragile and alone. She looked sadly down at Chekov's The Cherry Orchard in her shaking hands. She thought this gift from her late father-in-law would help soothe her nerves after her fight with her Papa, but it only seemed to emphasize all that she had lost.

Hearing harsh words from her Papa was nothing new to her, but tonight was different. He seemed to have been holding in a great deal of resentment and finally unleashed it upon her this evening. She already knew that she had drawn his ire. She almost revelled in it – each day spent at Downton was another bruise to his ego, a reminder that the daughter he had tried to banish was back and living under his roof. It was his vision of her future that troubled her, combined with the image of Lady Sarah flirting with Matthew.

Mary's original fears that the Crawley family would corrupt him were still present. He spent hours each day with her father, learning about the Estate, reviewing records and the entail and learning how to be an Earl. For the past week, he'd been immersed in London Society, experiencing what his new status would give him – invitations to exclusive parties, attention from lords and viscounts, and covetous stares from attractive women. Mary knew that Matthew was faithful, of course, but the fact remained that being with her was difficult, it required work and effort. Being with Lady Sarah or any of the other eligible women parading around him was easy enough. They threw themselves at him and all he had to do was catch. Even a man as upstanding as her husband would have to be tempted by all the extravagance of Society and the adoration he was now receiving. And it would be easy for him to deny their marriage ultimately. They'd already been doing just that for two years now.

And now it was her birthday, and their anniversary was tomorrow, and she felt entirely abandoned. She knew that he couldn't make a fuss regarding her birthday in front of her family, but he hadn't even wished her well during the brief times that they were in the same room.

Mary kept telling herself that he hadn't forgotten. He couldn't have. For, to forget her birthday was also to forget their marriage. She frowned as tears filled her eyes. She sniffed and held in a sudden sob. Had she really returned to her old life for this?

A knock at the door roused her. She sighed as she rose from bed and put on her robe. This was likely her Mama coming to scold her. Larry Grey had probably whined to Lord Merton about her being rude to him or some other half truth, or her Papa had told her Mama about their argument and ordered that she be punished.

Mary opened the door and was surprised to see the smiling face of Sybil and the less pleased expression of Edith.

"Happy Birthday, darling," Sybil smiled widely holding several presents that were elegantly wrapped. Sybil elbowed Edith in the side.

"Oh, yes, Happy Birthday, Mary," Edith said with a bored expression, waving a wrapped box in front of her dismissively.

Mary shook her head and smiled and allowed her sisters into her bedroom. They all sat down on her bed and placed the gifts before her.

"We didn't forget," Sybil said warmly. "We just wanted to wait until we were alone to celebrate, the way we did when we were little."

"Yes, except for some reason I could not get away with giving you a handmade card this time," Edith added.

Mary rolled her eyes, then opened the presents. She smiled at the gloves, perfume and even the embroidered bookmark from Edith.

"Thank you, both of you," she said, squeezing her sisters' hands.

"I know it hasn't been a very memorable birthday," Sybil said kindly. "But it's just because you've been back for a mere few months, is all. Next year will be different. We'll be able to give you a proper party. You'll see."

Mary smiled sadly at her youngest sister's enthusiasm. Edith's eyes were more sympathetic at the reality that they both understood.

"We may not be celebrating at Downton," Edith said. "But we can still celebrate, wherever we are."

"Of course," Mary nodded.

"Well, don't be so certain," Sybil said pleadingly. "Cousin Matthew isn't as ruthless as you may think he is. I expect he's a large reason why Papa hasn't banished you once again, and that's something, isn't it?"

"He's just doing it for appearance's sake," Mary said in exasperation. "He wants all of the news to be about him. To keep me in the background makes him and Papa seem magnanimous. Anyway, regardless of his motivation, he's an improvement on Patrick. I can handle the former solicitor from Manchester."

"Granny is still suspicious; she thinks his mother mollycoddles him. She says there is something wrong about the picture but she just can't work it out," Edith said.

"She still likes you best, of course," Sybil yawned.

Mary smiled. "I know," she said simply. "Now, back to bed, both of you. Thank you for this. You've made my day, believe it or not."

Mary hugged Sybil warmly and Edith perfunctorily, and her sisters went back to their rooms, leaving her to go back to bed and return to her sad thoughts.

* * *

><p>"Lady Sarah seemed to be taken with you tonight, sir," Thomas said as he gathered Matthew's suit from the floor.<p>

"She was, I suppose," Matthew replied, looking at himself in the mirror.

"She was quite friendly with Mr. Patrick after Lady Mary left," Thomas continued. "Some of us thought that he was going to propose to her eventually."

"But he didn't, did he, Thomas?" Matthew asked, not looking at the footman.

"No, sir," Thomas replied, puzzled by Matthew's comment.

"There's a lesson there, Thomas," Matthew said, turning around and facing him. "One's expectations can sometimes be out of touch with reality."

Thomas nodded slowly.

"Thomas, in the short time that you've been with me, I can see quite easily that you are an ambitious man. I admire that. A man who wishes to rise as high as he can go is a good man in my book," Matthew said.

"Thank you, sir," Thomas nodded with a smile.

"That is why you should always be mindful of reality, specifically the reality of your situation," Matthew noted.

"My situation, sir?" Thomas asked.

"Yes. You see, today Carson is the butler of our House and Bates is His Lordship's valet. I would assume that an ambitious man such as yourself aspires to be a valet someday, and perhaps even higher than that," Matthew said.

"It would be an honour to hold such a position in a House as esteemed as yours, sir," Thomas said carefully.

"Yes, well, I expect that you will be promoted in the next while. You've essentially served as my valet since I arrived, and so it's only fitting that you have the proper title at some point," Matthew said.

"Thank you, sir," Thomas replied genuinely.

"Of course. However, you can understand that when I become Earl, I'll need to implicitly trust my butler and my valet. If I were to suspect that my own man's loyalties were divided, even in the smallest percentage, well I couldn't allow that, could I?" Matthew asked, staring at Thomas intently.

"No. No, sir," Thomas swallowed.

"Hypothetically, Thomas," Matthew said lightly. "If I were the Earl of Grantham and my sole heir was a virtual stranger who I had never met before, I would go to great lengths to learn everything I could about him. I would make sure that my solicitor researched him thoroughly before he set foot through my door. And after he came, I would want as many eyes upon him as possible so that I knew everything there was to know about him and about what he got up to."

"If you think that's wise, sir," Thomas said.

"Well, I'm not the Earl yet," Matthew smiled. "And so, as the heir, I must say that my privacy is paramount. I naturally will share details about my daily life with my family, but I can't allow anyone to know where I am or what I am doing at all times. That would be unreasonable and unacceptable, don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," Thomas nodded. "You shouldn't have to be looking over your shoulder at all times, sir."

"My thoughts exactly, Thomas," Matthew smirked. "So, if I came back to Grantham House late in the evening, after Lady Rosamund's party the other night for instance, I shouldn't have to be worried if my valet spotted me, or who he may be reporting that information back to, should I? Hypothetically, of course."

"No, sir," Thomas said, his voice cracking slightly. "You shouldn't have to be concerned about that, sir."

"Good. I will need to rely on you, Thomas. I expect there will be all manner of people who will ask you about me, and so I require that you be discrete in your answers. I have nothing to hide, of course, but that's not the point. The point is that no one has a right to ask, and it's important that you know that."

"Yes, sir," Thomas nodded quickly.

"Good," Matthew said, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. He kept his hand there and Thomas glanced at it nervously before looking back at Matthew.

"Because everyone has secrets, don't they, Thomas? And I would hate to be careless with any of yours, that is, if I knew any, hypothetically," Matthew said.

"Hypothetically. Yes, sir," Thomas said.

"Good night, Thomas," Matthew said, turning away and going into the bedroom.

"Good night, sir," Thomas said quietly, turning and leaving down the hall for the servant's stairs as quickly as he could go.

* * *

><p>Mary opened her eyes slowly. Her room was dark, the embers from the fire glowing faintly. She turned her head, wondering why she had woken up in the middle of the night.<p>

A hand closed across her mouth and she yelped, the noise drowned out before it even left her mouth. Her eyes opened wide and she squirmed before soft lips pressed against her cheek.

"Shh, darling. It's me," Matthew whispered.

Mary turned and looked at his smiling face. He removed his hand and she lunged for him, kissing him deeply and pulling him down over her.

"Happy birthday, Mary," Matthew smiled, kissing her several times. "I'm sorry that I couldn't come to you sooner. Thomas has been watching my every move and I had to wait until I was certain he wasn't about."

"He has?" Mary frowned. "Papa…" she shook her head.

"Most likely, yes," Matthew nodded, lying against her side. "Although I wouldn't put it past Thomas to just be gathering information for later use. The man is rather conniving that way."

Matthew smiled and settled closer to her. He frowned curiously at her beaming expression.

"What is it?" he smiled.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten," Mary mumbled, reaching up and caressing his cheek.

"What? Are you mad?" Matthew laughed. "Forget my own wife's birthday? I'm too young to be that senile, Mary, and I'm not foolish enough to risk your anger."

Mary smiled and kissed him again. Her hand trailed down to the open neck of his robe.

"Mary," Matthew gasped. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay long. We don't have much time. The servants are all asleep, but the walls here aren't as thick as at Downton. I'm afraid that I may not be able to be as…quiet…as I need to be. The longer I stay in your bed, the more chance there is that we could be discovered."

Mary chuckled softly as he blushed.

"I won't pretend that I'm not disappointed," Mary said. "I need you, Matthew...very much. But you're right, of course."

"I'll save your present for our anniversary," Matthew said, kissing her again. "I have a plan to get us some privacy for a few hours tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you?" Mary smiled. "My, you're getting rather good at scheming, aren't you?"

"Well, I have a good teacher," Matthew smirked.

They kissed again and Mary finally released him.

"All right. Thank you for coming to me, darling. You cannot know how much I appreciate it. Good night," she smiled.

Matthew only smiled at her, then kissed her again. He moved to her cheek, and followed down to her neck. He pulled at her nightgown with one hand while he kissed her breasts through the cotton.

"Matthew?" Mary whispered, her eyes closing as her pulse sped up and her arousal grew. "I thought you said that we didn't have time?"

Matthew bunched her nightgown above her hips. His fingers reached for the ties of her knickers.

"I said that we didn't have much time, darling," he leered at her, the faint firelight showing his bestial smile. "And we don't have enough time for…that. But, we do have enough time for some things, so long as you aren't too loud."

He kissed her exposed navel, then pulled her knickers down her legs before pushing her thighs apart.

Mary grit her teeth and focused on trying not to be too loud.

She barely succeeded.

* * *

><p><strong>Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, London, England, December 1913<strong>

* * *

><p>"Miss Mary Crawley," Mary announced authoritatively as she reached the front desk.<p>

"Yes, Miss Crawley. Welcome. Please enjoy your stay," the clerk replied, handing her a key.

"Thank you. I'm sure that I will," Mary nodded. She took the lift up to the designated floor and reached the Park Suite without any trouble. Stepping inside, she left her coat on the sofa and went over to the window, smiling at the snow covered view of the park outside.

"It's quite stunning."

Mary turned around and smiled widely as Matthew came into the living room from the bedroom.

"Hyde Park is lovely during the winter," she answered.

"I suppose it is," Matthew smirked, taking her into his arms. "I wasn't referring to the view from the window, though."

"Is that the poetic lyric that charmed Lady Sarah Kensington last night?" Mary asked, her hands going to his shoulders.

"Please don't mention her name," Matthew rolled his eyes. "Another Lady has captured my full attention, thank you."

Mary smiled as he leaned forward and kissed her, pulling her tight to his body. She hummed in pleasure as his hands roamed her back, his obvious need thrilling her.

"God, I love you," Matthew gasped, his kisses becoming more heated.

"Matthew," she replied, her hands moving to his hair as his tongue slipped past her lips.

She had numerous questions for him. How had he arranged for the invitation for tea to be delivered that morning from Lady Cunard? How had he fixed it for a note telling her to retrieve a room key from the front desk to greet her upon her arrival at the restaurant downstairs? How had he stolen away himself to be able to meet her?

As she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, she decided that conversation could wait.

"Perhaps I should make you wait more often," Mary smiled, her fingers playing across his bare stomach. "You're far more…enthusiastic…when you are forced to behave for long periods."

"That's hardly fair," Matthew grumbled, massaging her back. "It's seeing you in all of these gowns and outfits – each one more fetching than the next. Your wardrobe in Manchester was decidedly more…"

"Yes?" Mary asked, turning her head towards him and frowning slightly.

"Practical," Matthew said.

Mary laughed and resumed her place on his chest.

"This is all quite scandalous you know, staying in a hotel suite in the middle of the day with no luggage, using the room for mere hours," Mary teased.

"It's not as rare a thing as you'd think," Matthew muttered.

"Pardon?" Mary asked.

"I'll explain later," Matthew recovered. "For now, I wanted to tell you that I think I may have uncovered where James and Patrick diverted the Estate funds. My investigation isn't complete yet, but it's getting close. Is there a way that we can come to London in the New Year?"

"I would usually spend part of January at Aunt Rosamund's," Mary said. "It was always understood that I came back here after New Year's."

"Good," Matthew said. "I'll invent some excuse to come back as well, after you've already left. So long as we're careful, that should do."

"But where are we going? And why do we both need to be here?" Mary asked.

"It may be too dangerous for you to come with me, but I want you in London when I figure out what happened. It's easier to meet and talk here without spying eyes all around us," Matthew said.

"Fine," Mary said. "You arranged all of this, so I'll trust in your planning abilities."

"It was mostly luck," Matthew smiled. "Lady Cunard doesn't keep in touch with your parents, so there's very little risk that they would ever ask her about your supposed tea appointment. As for the hotel, the staff here pride themselves on their discretion. Don't ask me how I know that."

"And how did you get away from Papa?" Mary asked.

"I told him that I had a meeting with Murray, which was true. I stopped by his office to look at the books. What I didn't tell your father was that my appointment with Murray was for this morning, and I told Murray that I had another meeting in the afternoon," Matthew said.

"Thereby freeing up your day without either of them likely to ever discuss your whereabouts with the other," Mary laughed.

"Precisely," Matthew said, lifting her face towards him and kissing her softly.

"I knew that you were clever when I married you," Mary grinned.

"Happy anniversary, my darling," Matthew smiled, kissing her again. "I sometimes cannot believe that we've been together for two years already, that you've put up with me for all of this time."

"Well, marriage is a long business, Matthew," Mary smiled. "I suppose that I'm stuck with you."

"Yes, you are. Irrevocably," Matthew smiled, kissing her again. "Your anniversary present is part of my investigations, so you won't receive it until next month. I did find something for today, though."

Matthew kissed her once more, then slipped from her grasp and left the lavish bed. Mary could not help but stare at his naked body as he walked easily over to his bag and rummaged through it. She smiled to herself. Her behaviour would be considered inappropriate by some, but ogling her husband was one of the few rights she had left, and she intended to use it…thoroughly.

When Matthew returned to bed holding a small object wrapped in brown paper, Mary almost forgot about the gift itself. She blushed when she saw the evidence of his arousal, and it stirred her own delightfully.

"For me?" Mary said eagerly as he pulled the blankets over them once more.

"Of course," Matthew said, leering at her. "There could never be anyone else."

She leaned over and kissed him. He smiled and handed the small package to her. She unwrapped the paper and revealed a small glass jar.

"Strawberry preserves?" she laughed.

"Since its Christmas and there aren't fresh strawberries, I had to settle for preserves. At first I was a little disenchanted," Matthew said as he moved to take his wife in his arms once again. "But, I think it'll do. Hopefully it reminds you of Manchester, when we first met, when I fell in love with you."

Mary stared at the red liquid, before her gaze turned to that of her husband's blue eyes. She opened the jar, the sound of a satisfying smack making her smile as the seal was broken. The sweet smell wafted up to her and she laughed again.

"We'll have to order some toast to spread these on, and some proper spoons," she said, smiling at Matthew.

"Actually, I think we're fine as we are," he quirked his eyebrow, taking the jar from her hand.

"Matthew," she warned, her heart rate jumping as he eased her back down to the pillows. He dipped his fingers into the jar and she licked her lips involuntarily in anticipation.

"No one knows we're here, darling," he said, swiping one of his coated fingers with his tongue before offering it to her. "Everything is permitted."

Mary laughed and tasted his fingers, the sweet fruit heightened by Matthew's dark gaze.

She fleetingly thought of what her old self would think of the wanton use of strawberry preserves in bed. She stuck her fingers in the jar and then inside her husband's mouth. Matthew's second attempt to feed her was not nearly as successful. Large globs of the fruit dropped onto her body before reaching her lips. She yelped in amusement at the cold feel against her warm skin. She then groaned as his lips and mouth moved across her skin, following the trail of preserves that she knew he had spilled deliberately.

She reached up and took the jar from him. He looked at her in confusion, then his eyes widened as she raised up and pushed him on to his back.

"My turn," she whispered before she pulled the blankets down his body.

Matthew swallowed as she dipped her fingers into the jar and proceeded to make him quite messy.

* * *

><p><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1914<strong>

* * *

><p>"I can have Grantham House opened for you, if you wish. You can bring Thomas with you," Robert said as he read the newspaper.<p>

"Thank you," Matthew nodded, sipping his tea. "But that won't be necessary. I was quite impressed with your club when you showed it to me last month, and I think it's time I tried it out for myself."

"Good," Robert smiled. "They'll treat you well there."

"I am certain that they will," Matthew smiled.

"If you need anything while you're in the city, call on Murray. He can assist you with arranging meetings and you can even tour the House if you like, though no one will be there as it isn't in session," Robert added.

"Thank you, but I expect to be quite busy already. I'm speaking to some colleagues about the tax laws and such. I'm hoping to find a way to ease our burden to His Majesty, all through proper channels, of course," Matthew said.

"Of course," Robert smiled. "If the laws can be turned to our advantage, then that's what they are there for, I say."

"I was hoping that you could assist me with a delicate matter, Cousin," Matthew said quietly.

Robert lowered his newspaper and looked at his heir thoughtfully.

"A delicate matter, you say?" Robert repeated.

"Yes," Matthew blushed. "I expect to be taking in some…entertainment…when I'm in London, and I don't quite know where to go. I know that there are some cabarets in Soho, but I wouldn't know where to go specifically."

Robert smiled. "Well, I shall disavow any knowledge of this conversation, or about being aware of what I am about to tell you. When I was your age, there were no cabarets here of course. That was something for the French. Soho was still the place to go for entertainment, however. James and I used to frequent this particular den of ill repute…though I never felt in danger there. It's hidden, of course, beneath a reputable restaurant – Café l'Europe. We stopped going there after we read that the police had shut the place down. Better to do our gambling at the club. Far easier, and legal as well."

"Of course," Matthew nodded.

"If you wish some anonymity, you can head over to one of the other clubs where we aren't as well known," Robert said. "If you take some money off the chaps, they may not like you as much as they do now."

"I'll keep that in mind," Matthew smiled. "Well, I need to pack and get going. I'll be back next week."

He rose from the table and walked briskly towards the Great Hall, his mind using this new piece of information and fitting it in with what he had already learned. Mary was already in London. He needed to get there quickly and see whether his hunch was correct.

* * *

><p><strong>Café l'Europe, St. James, London, England, January 1914<strong>

* * *

><p>"Are you sure that you belong here?" A voice said from behind the bar. The stick thin bartender snuffed out his cigarette as he appraised the stranger before him.<p>

Matthew cleared his throat. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I was given this address and was instructed to come here and settle an account, but I don't quite know who I'm supposed to talk to."

"And who would you be?" the bartender inquired.

"Matthew. Matthew Crawley. I'm here about the account of my cousins, James and Patrick," Matthew said nervously.

The bartender looked him up and down for several moments, then smiled.

"Right then. Have a seat," he said, before turning and walking down the bar into a back room.

Matthew sat down, looking around the room. The furniture and décor were a bit dated, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the bar, besides the fact it was tucked into the basement, and the fact that the dining hall above had its own bar.

Truthfully, Matthew did not know what he was expecting. He'd never been in a brothel or gambling den before, and he wouldn't know if this one was one of those or not. The liquor bottles behind the bar were all expensive brands, and he recognized expensive cigar boxes stacked to one side. He was hoping that by coming during the day, he could perhaps talk to someone outside of business hours, and so far he was correct. The place was deserted.

"You're the accountant, are you?" the bartender returned with a thick ledger, placing it on the bar.

"You could say that. I'm more a concerned family member," Matthew replied.

"Well we haven't seen James or Patrick in here for years," the bartender said. "James stopped coming a while back, but Patrick was in here about a year and a half ago. We usually don't take kindly to patrons who stop coming around, especially ones who owe us as much as he does, but the payments kept coming, so we didn't feel the need to track him down."

"Yes, well, we'd like to settle up his account if we could," Matthew said carefully.

"Why's that? He thinks he's too good for us now, does he?" the bartender smirked.

"Not exactly. He's dead," Matthew said.

"Bugger. Sorry to hear that. Patrick was a funny bloke. Ran his mouth too much and couldn't outdrink my grandmother, but he was fun to have around, especially when he was losing," the bartender said.

"You mentioned that the payments kept coming?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah. He wrote us a whole whack of cheques to pay down his debts and we'd credit him any winnings he built up. Course he never won for very long. That was his problem. Always chased after his money."

"Do you have any cheques left? I'd like to settle his account and take them back, if I could," Matthew said.

"Sure," the bartender smiled. "You wouldn't want your family name tarnished if word got out that Patrick was gambling down in here, would you? I figure you've got more to lose than we do."

"You're probably right about that," Matthew nodded.

The bartender opened the ledger and flipped through the pages. He found an envelope buried within and handed it to Matthew.

"Here you are. Looks like there were three cheques left. The balance of his debt's right here. Pay me that amount and Patrick's debt is clear."

He turned the ledger around so that Matthew could see it. Matthew glanced at the records of Patrick's gambling losses, quickly noting the dates and amounts in his mind. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and took out several pound notes. He counted a few and passed them to the bartender.

"Thanks, mate. If you ever want to take a shot yourself, come by any night after one."

"I'll think about it," Matthew nodded. He tucked the envelope with the remaining cheques into his coat pocket and walked quickly out of the bar. He quickly hailed a cab when he got up to the street. Giving the driver instructions to his club, Matthew took out a notepad and quickly jotted down the dates and amounts that he remembered from the ledger. He removed the envelope from his pocket and looked over the cheques. The final puzzle pieces snapped into place.

He sighed as he looked out the window. He needed to get word to Mary right away.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1914**_

* * *

><p>"Mama," Robert frowned as he came into the parlour. "I wasn't told that you were coming."<p>

"That's because I did not come here to see you," Violet said dismissively. "Where is that prodigal son of yours?"

"Matthew isn't here," Robert rolled his eyes, going over and pulling the cord for Carson. "He's in London for meetings."

"Meetings!" Violet exclaimed, glancing up at her son from her chair. "How industrious of him."

"It makes perfect sense for him to get better acquainted with members of the House and others in the city," Robert said lightly.

"My Lord. Lady Grantham," Carson nodded as he came into the room.

"Tea, Carson, thank you," Robert nodded. Carson bowed and disappeared.

"What need do you have of Matthew?" Robert asked, turning back to his mother. "The two of you have hardly spent more than five minutes in conversation with each other since his arrival."

"After nearly six months here, I think it sufficient time to determine his worthiness for his post," Violet replied.

"He's my heir, Mama," Robert said firmly. "No amount of badgering from you will change that."

"Having a position and thriving in it are entirely separate. One does not beget the other," Violet noted. "I'm not as quick to approve of him as you are."

"Your approval is hardly necessary," Robert sighed. "In any event, you've missed him. He'll be back next week. You can schedule your inquisition then."

"Very well. I shall sharpen my knives in the interim," Violet nodded.

"Why do you dislike him? You don't even know him," Robert frowned.

"I do not dislike him. I just don't like him, which is quite different. Now, where is Mary?" Violet said haughtily.

"Why do you ask?" Robert frowned.

"She's my granddaughter. Do I need a reason to see her?" Violet demanded.

"She's not here, thank Heaven," Robert said in frustration. "She's in London, attending some fashion show."

"And no one went with her?" Violet asked.

"No, she went on her own and is staying at Rosamund's. She's due back next week, but she can stay away as long as she likes if you ask me," Robert replied.

"No one has," Violet retorted.

"Mama, you've always had a soft spot for Mary, I know, but even you must realize that she has done nothing but cause anguish and scandal for this family since her Season. I've condoned her return, barely, at Matthew's request and because I do not look forward to dealing with Cora's heartbreak if I were to send her away again. But if you expect me to forget, or forgive, all that she has done, you of all people should know that is impossible," Robert said bitterly.

"Have you not flogged this horse enough?" Violet asked quietly.

"I'm not having this argument with you again," Robert waved his hand in the air. "And before you start, no, it is not only what she did to Patrick that infuriates me. It's all that happened during her debut. I spent time and money protecting her reputation only for her to throw it all away. No, Mama. She's back and she can stay, but do not bother with any scheme you may have to restore her. You know that she's forsaken all that she could have been."

Carson cleared his throat as he brought the tea tray into the parlour. Robert stayed silent, staring out the window as Carson served a cup to the Dowager Countess and placed his on the table nearby. Robert mumbled that he did not require the butler further and Carson took his leave.

"I will only say that I find it striking that you champion Matthew as much, if not more, than you condemn Mary. One is your distant cousin, the other is your daughter," Violet said, sipping her tea.

"Matthew deserves all of our support," Robert said, still looking out the window. "He hasn't disappointed me."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, London, England, February 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Oh, please!" Matthew moaned, his eyes shut tight. He swallowed several times, his hands clawing at the bed sheets.<p>

A content thrum reached his ears and he forced his eyes open and propped himself up on his elbows, looking down his bare chest to the long brown tresses gathered below his stomach. Just watching what she was doing to him made him almost fall apart.

"Darling, stop! Please! You can't…" he gasped.

Long fingers crawled up his front and forcefully shoved him down on to his back. He stared up at the ceiling, babbling her name, his hips refusing to obey his command for restraint. He felt her other hand caress his thigh, then move between his legs, and as her fingers joined her lips and tongue, he yelled out in bliss.

* * *

><p>"I don't deserve you," he said sleepily, as he watched her come out of the bathroom and return to bed.<p>

"I'm in no mood for this pathetic exchange," Mary arched her eyebrow at him, kissing him quickly, then settling down next to him, her head on his chest. "I've done nothing more than what you've already done for me numerous times, and I won't discuss it any further."

He laughed, reaching out and stroking her bare back.

"You were supposed to tell me about your mission," he said lightly. "That was the purpose of meeting here this morning."

"That was _your _purpose perhaps," she smiled at him. "I came here to make love to my husband, who has not touched me for almost a month, I might add."

"Please don't remind me," Matthew sighed. "Between Robert having some new lesson for me each day and seeing Thomas and Bates in the halls each night, I've been one irrational impulse away from ravishing you on the dining room table."

"You're not alone there," Mary rolled her eyes. "I think I've had tea with Granny and Mama more often in the past two months than I did even before I was exiled to Manchester. I suspect they're trying to rehabilitate me so they can marry me off to some Italian who isn't picky."

"Well they'll need my permission for that, and I am not inclined to grant it," Matthew said, leaning forward and kissing her.

"I don't believe that the entail gives you power over such arrangements, Matthew," Mary smiled.

"On the contrary," Matthew smirked. "I believe that I control your settlement, or at least I have a say in it anyway, and so I will simply refuse to pay it over to whichever unsuspecting lad has the audacity to agree to any scheme involving you."

"You would keep me a prisoner indefinitely?" Mary exclaimed with mock indignation.

"Absolutely, under my sole supervision," Matthew grinned, kissing her again.

She returned his kiss and chuckled before they lay back down.

"This is heavenly," Mary sighed. She nuzzled her nose against the side of his face, her breath warm across his skin. "It isn't the Midland, but it will do."

"I just wish that we could stay overnight, as a proper couple," Matthew said sadly.

"The sooner you smash the entail, the sooner we can, darling," Mary smiled, kissing his cheek. "And believe me, we will spend many nights celebrating. I'm going to lock the door and not allow you out."

"I could not dream of a better fate," Matthew said, hugging her close.

They fell asleep, their passion having worn both of them out. When Matthew opened his eyes again, the sun was still bright outside and Mary was still curled up against him. He smiled at her placid face, so beautiful as she slept. He moved his head towards her and whispered in her ear.

"For this was on St. Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate."

Mary sighed and smiled, keeping her eyes closed.

"I can't decide if you are simply mumbling or saying something poetic," Mary muttered with disinterest. "I hope it's the former, as we are entirely underdressed for vows of courtly love."

"I think that Chaucer sounds far more romantic when spoken in our exact current circumstances, actually," Matthew replied.

"Darling," Mary said. "Quoting Chaucer will never earn you any points with me. It's simply another example of misplaced inspiration, as sorry as any poem about the Moon and June and other drivel."

"I think it fits us perfectly," Matthew continued. "When Chaucer wrote that poem he was declaring that Valentine's Day is a special day for lovers."

Mary's eyes remained closed and she arched her eyebrows. "Really Matthew," she chided him. "Mentioning love birds? Perhaps Abel would be a better audience? Those lines would get you further with him than it will with me."

"You're in no position to deny me anything, darling," Matthew said pointedly before his hands moved to her sides. Her eyes snapped open a moment too late and he began tickling her sensitive skin just below her ribs.

"Matthew!" she shrieked between giggles. "Stop it!"

"I'll only stop if you say it," he chuckled. "You know what I want."

"You're an absolute arse!" Mary shot back, writhing against him and laughing freely.

"Your feet are next," Matthew warned.

"Fine! Fine!" Mary cried. "I love you," she gasped. "I love you! I love you! Now stop it!"

Matthew ceased his tickling and she fell back against the pillows out of breath. As Mary caught her breath, he kissed her cheek.

"I love you, my darling. I love you so terribly much," he smiled.

Mary blushed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"You know, I was going to suggest that we go to the festival at whatever small church we can find. They say that attending such an event is akin to renewing one's vows," Matthew said.

Mary smiled and caressed his cheek.

"Thank you," she smiled. "But you know that I don't need to go to church to know that I'm yours."

"Just the same," Matthew smiled, kissing her. "We've spent most of our marriage pretending that we aren't husband and wife. It's nice to have a day where we can celebrate it."

Mary grinned. "My thoughts exactly, darling."

Matthew smiled in confusion and surprise as Mary got out of bed and wandered out into the living room. She fetched her coat from the floor where she'd discarded it earlier and reached into the inner pocket. Smiling to herself, she hurried back to bed.

"You look pleased with yourself," Matthew smiled.

"I am," Mary nodded.

She pulled her hand out from behind her back and placed a small box in his hand.

"Mary," he said in shock, his eyes widening.

"We can't go out in public together properly," Mary said. "But right here, right now, I'll pledge myself to you again, Matthew."

Matthew opened the box and grinned widely as he took out Mary's betrothal ring and wedding band. She hadn't worn them since leaving Manchester and the sight of them filled him with pride.

He hummed happily at her smiling face and took her left hand.

"Now, now, darling," Mary said playfully. "Need I remind you?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. He quickly got out of bed and came around to her side. She got up and stood before him. Mary laughed as he went down on one knee.

"I must say that this isn't how I imagined my proposal to play out," she smiled at his naked body.

Matthew shook his head at her. He took her hand once more and brought the rings to her finger.

"Lady Mary Crawley. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" Mary laughed, watching as he placed her rings on her finger.

He scooped her up and promptly fell back into bed. She reached up and held his face in her hands, the sight of her rings making her smile widely.

"What do you think about re-enacting our wedding night, darling?" she drawled.

He kissed her in reply.

"I should tell you about what I discovered before we get…distracted…again."

"Yes, please do," Matthew said, turning on to his side and looking at her.

"Well, by all accounts, Patrick did not have any prospects before he left on the _Titanic_," Mary said. "Lady Cunard was quite adamant that while he was seen often in London, there wasn't even gossip about him finding a new fiancée. Apparently he brooded for several months, did the Season as usual and was often seen accompanying Cousin James on business."

"What about Lady Kensington?" Matthew asked.

"I expect he was still having liaisons with her and feeding her some delusion about making her Countess of Grantham one day," Mary said caustically. "But that would not explain where all the money went. Lady Kensington's family is rich as it is."

"So he wasn't diverting money to a new bride," Matthew frowned. "And as far as we know he didn't have any interests in the New World to speak of."

"I can't see how he could manage that without Papa knowing about it and there being a record of some sort," Mary said.

"That just leaves the gambling," Matthew said. "Perhaps the Café l'Europe wasn't the only hall that he frequented. It's simply the only one we can trace."

"But none of this makes any sense," Mary shook her head. "Patrick always enjoyed gambling more than most men, but how was he able to lose so much money? And if he paid off his debts with money from Downton, how could he cover it up on the books and close bank accounts without Papa discovering it?"

"I believe that I have the answer for that," Matthew sighed. "But first, let's have some lunch."

* * *

><p>"It comes down to who is supervising who," Matthew said, sipping his tea. "Your grandpapa fixed it so that Robert and James could not do anything without each other, but with respect to their children, there's no inherent responsibility beyond that of being a parent."<p>

"So Papa had no real authority over Patrick. That's fair. But that doesn't explain how Patrick could use Estate funds," Mary said, taking a spoonful of yogurt.

"According to the books, the two bank accounts that we discovered were closed were set up to collect revenues from two operations in the Village – the sale of elderberry wine and fundraising from the annual Downton Church Bazaar. James was personally responsible for those accounts. He probably suggested opening them to Robert, who agreed either because he was too bored to look into it with any detail, or because he thought it was a good idea. Either way, he obviously did not monitor those accounts," Matthew said.

"Because as long as money is going into the accounts, he has no need to be concerned about them, and he would have expected that no funds could be withdrawn without his approval, together with James'" Mary nodded.

"Precisely," Matthew said. "Now, as with many things, James delegated responsibility for the accounts to Patrick. He collected the money, arranged for the deposits and monitored the accounts."

"But what about when it was time to use those funds?" Mary asked. "James and Papa would still need to sign off on them, and surely Papa would question cheques made out to an establishment in London that he did not recognize."

"That's the beauty of the scheme," Matthew said grimly. "Robert never expected the money to be spent. The sale of elderberry wine is a small enterprise and the Downton Church Bazaar funds are meant to pay for repairs to the Church. Whenever money is needed, it's paid out of the Estate funds, not directly from those two bank accounts."

"So Papa would have gone along with spending Mama's money, thinking he had funds sitting in those two accounts to make up for it," Mary said.

"Exactly," Matthew said. "The cheques that I recovered from the Café l'Europe are all signed by James and Robert, but they're from the Estate bank account. Either Patrick obtained blank cheques that James and Robert signed in advance for later use, or the signatures are forged. The cheques aren't sequential, meaning that Patrick had a number of cheques that he was using. Either way, I don't think Robert knew anything about them. Since they're already signed, they're as good as money."

"My God," Mary shook her head.

"Patrick may have used other cheques to withdraw the money to gamble with, or he may have never deposited the money to begin with. He needed the accounts to exist so he could be put in charge of them and have access to the funds. He would have never expected to lose the money, so he probably believed he could keep his profits and pay the rest back into the accounts when necessary," Matthew said.

"He used our money to finance his gambling, but when he lost it all, he needed to find other funds to pay back his creditors," Mary followed along.

"And that's where the Cottage Hospital comes in," Matthew said. "He inflated the numbers on the Estate books and diverted the funds to pay his creditors. The hospital receives its regular allotment of supplies as usual, and payments are made in the normal course out of the Estate account. No one at the hospital would ever see the Estate books, so no one would ever know that the supplies ordered and delivered did not match up."

"But what about the invoices and order forms for the supplies that were never ordered? Did Patrick fabricate those as well?" Mary asked.

"Someone did," Matthew nodded. "There's three suppliers that are paid the same amount every month. None of them are legitimate businesses, and none of them made any deliveries to the Cottage Hospital. Cheques went to three individuals care of three different banks, probably paying off Patrick's debts at other gambling dens."

"And he closed the accounts so that the banks didn't contact Papa or send him statements and he isn't alerted to the fact that the accounts have been emptied," Mary theorized.

"Exactly. The statements for those accounts show the same principal balance each month because deposits were made so infrequently. It would be simple enough to copy those statements and change the date so that it all matches up with the books. Unless anyone checked with the banks the way that we did, no one would know the true state of the accounts," Matthew said.

"And since Patrick was the one responsible, he could keep it all hidden," Mary shook her head.

"Yes. I could understand why no one at the banks would question any of it. They're loathe to call out any of their privileged customers. But why was Patrick in so deep? He couldn't have enjoyed gambling that much. Was winning money that important to him?" Matthew asked.

"It was because of me," Mary sighed, looking away.

"What?" Matthew frowned.

"It's the only explanation that makes any sense. He did it all to build his own fortune overnight, something separate and apart from James, from Downton, something that would be his own achievement, that he wouldn't have to wait to inherit," Mary said.

"To do what?" Matthew asked. "To impress you? You were already promised to him."

"To win me over, yes," Mary rolled her eyes. "Even though I agreed to marry him, I made no secret of the fact that I found him…boring. I was only going to marry him if nothing better came along, and as the heir to Cousin James, his prospects were better than most. God, the way I must sound to you."

"That was a different time," Matthew said, rubbing her arm. "You were different then."

"That's a nice thing to say, but I sometimes wonder…" Mary said softly. "Patrick thought that was the way to impress me – with money, his own money. I wouldn't be able to dismiss him so easily then, because I couldn't claim it was just him riding on my family's wealth. He thought that getting rich was the way to win my affection, and why wouldn't he? That's all I ever said was important since we were children – money, a title, a position – oh God, Patrick…"

"Mary," Matthew said, pulling her back towards him.

"Edith always told me to just be nicer to him," she said shakily. "That's all he wanted from me. He could wait for me to love him. He could even wait for the sex, but he just wanted me to be kind, to show him we could have a future of some sort, and I never did."

"Mary, stop, please," Matthew pleaded. "What Patrick did to you was of his own choosing. There's no excuse, no justification, no absolving him for what he did."

"I was cruel to him, Matthew. He did what he did, yes, but I was cruel to him," Mary sobbed.

"It doesn't matter. What he did was unforgiveable," Matthew said, holding her close and kissing her forehead. "But as a result of Patrick's gambling and playing with the books, things are far worse off than we thought."

"What will you do?" Mary asked.

"Continue to find a way to beat the entail," Matthew said. "But in the meanwhile, _we_ will need to delve deeper into all of the operations. We need to find some way of cutting some of the waste and making better use of the land. Otherwise, even if we are successful at putting you back where you belong, you'll be Countess of an Estate that has no money."

"Papa won't want you to be so involved," Mary said. "He wants you to learn, but not to think for yourself. He'll be put off by any of your ideas because they won't seem as though they came from him."

"He'll have to get used to it," Matthew declared. "He has to work with me, doesn't he?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Dearest," Mary said to her youngest sister as she entered the library. "If you are going to sulk, at least turn on the lights and pretend to be reading."<p>

Sybil only glared at her sister. But, Mary took no notice of such a gesture. After all she could withstand the sharpest of looks during their time in London. Sybil's petulance was nothing.

Mary sat on the settee next to her sister and simply waited. The only sound in the room was the clock as it struck ten o'clock in the evening. Mary glanced at her sister still in her formal dress from dinner, whereas Mary had already changed into her more comfortable nightgown and robe. It was Anna that had alerted her to Sybil's disappearance, and Mary had assured her lady's maid that she would handle it.

"I'm only interested in politics because of women's rights," Sybil stated coldly. "I'm not a Bolshevik!"

"No one called you that," Mary said sympathetically.

"Papa might as well have!" Sybil returned fiercely, her voice strong and passionate. She reached for her sister's hand. "It is simply awful when no one understands."

Mary felt an unexpected lump form in her throat at her sister's words and their double meaning. She squeezed their joined hands but found there was nothing she could think of to say that would soothe Sybil.

"I'm going to keep reading the newspapers, I'm going to keep caring about what happens," Sybil declared. "And one way or another, Papa won't stop me. There's change coming and I want to be involved."

"I don't know about that," Mary said patiently. "With a hung Parliament, it's hard to get excited about a simple by-election. You know nothing will change, whoever gets in."

"You should see when we meet with the entire committee, Mary," Sybil said excitedly. "Everyone is interested, everyone is involved, everyone is willing to listen and learn. Change has to start somewhere, so why not in Ripon?"

"Granny could imagine a few reasons, I'm sure," Mary smiled.

"Of course. She wants me to find a husband and just repeat whatever he says. 'My problem is that I am focused on the wrong kind of _Count_' Sybil rolled her eyes at her Granny's comment during dinner when her Papa had scolded her for being too politically involved.

"I think you could easily marry a Prince, why settle for a Count?" Mary said fondly.

Sybil huffed out a breath of disdain but did at least smile.

"There has got to more to life than simply marriage," she said with disappointment. "I want travel and adventure!"

"You could have both, consider Count Dracula," Mary teased. "Transylvania is on the way to Italy, you know."

"I'm sorry, darling," Sybil said suddenly. "Here I am lamenting on marriage. What you must think of me."

Mary patted their joined hands with her free one.

"It's quite all right. It's not as though I was going to have a great one even when I was promised to Patrick. I'm sure that there are men out there who would take even someone with my reputation for a wife. If there is, you know that Mama and Granny will find him," Mary smirked.

"You don't need to put on a brave front for me, Mary," Sybil shook her head. "I know that this can't be easy. Regardless of the way you feel about Cousin Matthew, I know you'll be angry when he brings his fiancée to meet us someday."

"On that we can agree," Mary nodded. "I would be furious if Matthew introduced another woman to me as his future wife."

"Because she'd be getting everything that was supposed to be yours," Sybil nodded.

"Yes, that's it," Mary said, stopping herself from smiling.

"What happened, Mary?" Sybil asked. "I feel that back during your Season, everything was promising and happy and fun. It's been months now since I've had mine and life isn't at all what I expected."

Mary nodded and looked away.

"But I'm so glad you're here, darling," Sybil smiled.

"So am I," Mary returned. "Now, let's go to the kitchen. I'll make you some hot chocolate, but only under the condition that you don't tell a soul that I can do such a thing!"

"What else did you learn in Manchester that you are holding back?" Sybil giggled.

"If you only knew, my dear," Mary smiled as they walked towards the stairs arm in arm. "If you only knew."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"How was your time in London, sir?" Thomas asked as he helped Matthew into his robe.<p>

"Very good, thank you, Thomas," Matthew nodded, looking at himself in the mirror. "My meetings were quite enlightening."

"I hope that you've become more comfortable with the way things are around here, sir," Thomas nodded.

"I am, yes," Matthew replied. "Although I must say I'm still at a loss to understand why Cousin Robert and Cousin Mary don't get along."

Thomas stiffened slightly.

"Of course, I know that her return was rather shocking, that they didn't expect her, but it's been months now and the tension hasn't thawed between them. And no one seems to want to talk about it," Matthew continued.

"Well, Lady Mary is…complex…sir," Thomas said carefully. "His Lordship isn't quick to forgive, either, I'm sorry to say."

"But forgive what, Thomas?" Matthew sighed. "I've heard rumours and gossip, but I still don't have a clue what happened."

"It's not my place, sir," Thomas said quickly.

"It's not your place to assist me?" Matthew questioned. "Very well."

"Surely you can appreciate the difficult position it puts me in, sir?" Thomas said.

"Thomas, anything said between us is kept in confidence. I expect you know that. I'm not looking for a tale to go out and spread across London. All of Society seems to know more than I do when it comes to Cousin Mary and Cousin Robert. You can see how frustrating it would be for me to be at such a disadvantage regarding my own family?" Matthew said pointedly.

"Well, sir, you never heard it from me, but it's true, sir. Lady Mary was banished from the home by His Lordship after she was found in a compromising position with a guest. This was several years ago, sir, during one of the hunts," Thomas said quietly.

"My God," Matthew said with exaggerated shock. "And he walked in on his daughter in the act, as it were?"

"No, sir," Thomas shook his head. "It was the late Mr. Patrick who found her out."

"His own fiancée," Matthew whispered. "I can only imagine."

"It came as quite a shock, sir, yes," Thomas nodded.

"But how? What was Patrick doing in Mary's room?" Matthew asked.

"We called him there, sir," Thomas said. "Louis, Mr. Patrick's valet, and I, we saw the foreigner – the guest – going to Lady Mary's room. We alerted Mr. Patrick when we thought that Lady Mary was in danger, and he heard them when he arrived."

"He heard them?" Matthew repeated. "Oh, he _heard _them."

Thomas nodded.

"How horrible," Matthew shook his head. "And what ever became of Louis?"

Thomas' lips twitched and he looked down at the floor.

"He died, sir," Thomas whispered. "On the _Titanic_."

"Ah," Matthew nodded. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware."

Thomas nodded, still looking down at the floor.

Matthew's eyes narrowed as he looked at the footman.

"It must have been a harsh blow for all of you downstairs," Matthew said slowly. "Not only losing Cousin James and Cousin Patrick, but Louis as well."

"Of course," Thomas nodded. "Everyone…liked…Louis."

"Well, thank you for telling me, Thomas. I'm sorry to dredge up sad memories for you," Matthew said kindly.

"You're welcome, sir. Anything to help," Thomas said bravely.

Matthew wished him good night and dismissed him. He went into his bedroom and glanced at the framed gingko leaf that he kept on his dresser. He nodded to himself as he contemplated Thomas' words.

* * *

><p>Mary never sleeps deeply anymore. She sleeps better than she ever did at Lady Philomena's and never as well as she did at Matthew's, but she doesn't sleep deeply, the kind of sleep where she's almost boneless and blissfully unaware of the outside world until she rings for Anna in the morning. Not in this bed. Not in this room.<p>

When she returned to Downton Abbey, her Mama quietly suggested she may wish to take a different bedroom given what had happened here, but Mary defiantly said no. Though her memories of this room are ever present, she refused to allow them to control her. Besides, her bedroom is the biggest one in the house, unless they were to convert a nursery or sitting room into a bedroom for her, which she knows they won't, and unless they'll allow her to take the room next to Matthew's in the Bachelor's Wing, which of course they never would, there's no use staying anywhere else.

Somewhat dramatically, she expected nightmares and visions when she spent her first night back here, but nothing happened. She would open her eyes at the slightest noise, be startled from slumber whenever she heard footsteps or voices passing outside her door, but she never felt afraid. She knew what truly took place between these walls, and as horrid as it was, and as deplorable the outcome for her, she isn't paralyzed by it anymore, and she takes great satisfaction in that.

So she stays in her bedroom, each night, every night, sleeping easily, but not deeply. She thinks to herself that every morning she rises from this bed, she's striking a blow for herself against Patrick's ghost, against her Papa's scorn, against Society's false beliefs about her. Lady Mary Crawley isn't afraid of a stupid room, but she remains vigilant nonetheless.

Which is why she is roused awake in the middle of the night by the dip in the bed and the feel of weight settling beside her. She blinks in surprise, but is comforted by the familiar smell of his aftershave and the warm hold of his arms wrapping around her.

"What are you doing here?" she mumbles, her hands moving to cover his. "I told you that it's too dangerous."

"I've chosen you as my consort," he answers seductively.

"What? Is this more of your play acting in bed? I'm in no mood for it, and we don't have any costumes or props," she whispers, eyes still closed.

"I'm a bachelor who needs his release," he continued. "And I've decided that you shall help me."

Mary opens her eyes and struggles out of his arms. She sits up and reaches for the bedside table lamp. The light makes her wince almost as much as the words she had thought he had just said. They were certainly not words she had expected from him, they belong more in the dominion of Larry Grey.

"I'm not anyone's consort!" she hisses.

"Mary, it's all right," Matthew says sweetly.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Mary demands as she pushes back against his chest. "I don't find such jokes at all funny, Matthew!"

"Your Papa suggested that I discretely take a consort to…sate my desires…" Matthew explains with a smile. "I could think of no one better for such a role."

"You could think of no one better for the role of your mistress than your own wife?" Mary frowns, slapping his chest lightly.

"Ow! Mary!" Matthew protests.

"And so you raced to my bed because of this idea and how captivating you think it is, believing I will simply accept that because of your status and my reputation the deception would work?" she accuses him coldly.

"It will! Don't you see?" Matthew exclaims excitedly, his enthusiasm entirely one-sided between them. "I'm just upset I didn't see it earlier. Now, if we get caught we have the perfect explanation."

"If Papa were here, he'd punch you in the nose. He never would have thought you'd choose me when he gave you such disgusting advice," Mary rolls her eyes.

"That's what makes it all the more enjoyable. We're using his own words against him, once again," Matthew grins, leaning forward to kiss her.

She stops him once again, pushing him back.

"What's wrong? Haven't you missed me?" Matthew asks in concern.

"Desperately," Mary replies. "But not like this. I won't be your mistress."

"It's just for pretend," Matthew states. "You know where my true feelings lie."

"Even still," Mary says. "Are you suggesting that we have more regular encounters? You'll send Thomas to fetch me each night so I can come to you?"

"I hadn't thought about it, but I don't see why not," Matthew muses. "Or you could send Anna to fetch me. Or we could use them as go-betweens if we decide to try out one of the other rooms."

"The entire family will find out. Thomas will tell O'Brien, who will tell Mama," Mary shakes her head at the implications.

"And we have the perfect explanation, courtesy of your father," Matthew smiles.

"No," Mary objects. "They'll think that I seduced you, and they won't condone such an arrangement. We'll be watched even more closely, if I'm allowed to stay here at all."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Matthew mumbles, frowning to himself.

"Besides, you would actually have no compunction about treating me that way? Even if it were for pretend?" Mary arches her eyebrow at him.

"How is it any different than acting as though we don't know each other? It's simply a ruse to cover up our true relationship," Matthew says easily.

"What if I were to take on a suitor to distract attention away from us?" Mary retorts.

"Why ever would you do that?" Matthew cringes in alarm.

"How is it any different than acting as though we don't know each other? It's simply a ruse to cover up our true relationship," Mary mimics him.

"That's different!" Matthew whinges.

"Why? Because it's permitted for you to sleep with whores and have consorts at your beck and call, but I can't flirt with another man?" Mary questions him pointedly.

"Yes! I mean, no! I'm not sleeping with anyone else and I don't have any consorts! It's just an illusion, is all! It's no different than when we act out some of the delightful scenarios that you dream up," Matthew shakes his head.

"That's different! That's solely for the two of us in private. You're talking about openly stating that you can have me whenever you want, and all of my family and servants will know it. I won't play along with this one," Mary says firmly. "I'd rather go without you for days than act as though I'm your possession or that you have some claim to my body. And I certainly won't allow myself to be thought of in that fashion by Thomas, Anna or anyone else."

"All right, Mary. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Matthew apologizes imploringly.

Mary reaches out and caresses his cheek in conciliation. She kisses him lightly.

"Darling, I know this is hard for both of us, and I know that you think your idea is harmless, but these rare moments when we're together, I want it to be as we truly are. I want to think of you as my husband, not as anything else," Mary whispers.

"Of course," Matthew nods. "I'm sorry, Mary. I would never think of you in any other fashion. You're my wife. You're everything that matters to me."

They kiss again, and Mary laughs lightly when they pause for breath.

"It's all right. I know that you meant well. Love can drive men to do all manner of things that in the cold light of day seems entirely out of character for them," she grins.

Matthew's eyes widen.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"I said that I forgive you for wanting me to be your consort," Mary smiles.

"No, not that," Matthew replies. "The other thing. Love can drive men to do strange things."

"I expect that it is a timeless truth," Mary laughs. "Why?"

Matthew looks away, thinking quickly. He turns back to her and smiles widely.

"That's it. _Love_," Matthew beams.

"Are you going to quote Chaucer again?" Mary smirks. "Because I must say it isn't as arousing as you seem to think it is."

"No, no," Matthew shakes his head in amusement. "How aroused would you be if I told you that I think I know how to clear your name and reputation?"

"What?" Mary's mouth falls open in shock. "That's impossible. How?"

"Not so fast, Mrs. Crawley," Matthew leers. "Let's go back to talking about me being a man in need of release."

Mary laughs as he descends on her, kissing her neck.

"We have to be quiet," Mary whispers, moving her hips against his wantonly. "It's not as deserted here as it is in the Bachelor's Wing. Did you bring protection?"

"Of course," Matthew smiles, reaching for the hem of her nightgown. "Now stop talking and kiss me. Please."


	20. Chapter 20

_**Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, March 1914**_

* * *

><p>"The cake is excellent, Cousin Violet," Isobel said with appreciation. She sipped her tea and glanced around the parlour, somewhat cosier than the rooms at Downton Abbey, yet not quite as warm as what she had set up at Crawley House. The paintings on the wall, the furniture, even the rugs seemed to state 'look, don't touch'.<p>

"I'll pass on your compliments to Mrs. Hunt," Violet said matter of factly. "Your son said much the same when he joined me yesterday."

Isobel looked at the Dowager Countess curiously at this new information.

"He came by with Sybil. I understand that he was escorting her into the Village to retrieve a parcel for Cora. He is very good about duty, isn't he? And loyal to his family," Violet continued, taking up her own tea cup. "Such positive attributes in a young man."

"It's hardly fair for me to comment," Isobel said brightly. "My bias is obvious."

"Why? Because he's your son?" Violet chuckled. "I assure you that it does not always follow that a mother thinks highly of her child."

"Matthew has his faults, of course," Isobel offered. "But he makes me very proud, just as I am sure that you are proud of Cousin Robert."

"How lovely," Violet smiled. "Is duty why Matthew never moved out of your home before he was summoned to Downton? I would have expected a man of his age would want his independence. It must have been awkward for you if he chose to entertain at home, or when he came home late."

"His father expected him to move out when he graduated from law school, but he was content to stay home. I can't say that I pushed for him to leave. I liked having him close by. I like to think that staying under our roof was a comfort to him," Isobel nodded.

"Of course, of course," Violet nodded. "It is one of my many regrets that Mary did not enjoy the same hospitality when she was in Manchester. I tried to have her stay with her Godfather, you understand, but apparently he left her with his dreadful sister."

Isobel smiled politely and sipped her tea. She always had a keen sense for a ruse – whether it be a patient swearing he'd taken his medication when the pills were in fact thrown in the bin, or Matthew trying to tell her that he and his father had not eaten all the leftover apple pie when he was a boy – she could tell when she was being played for a fool, or being coerced into revealing too much.

"Well, that's all water under the bridge now that Mary has returned to her family," Isobel said.

Violet hummed and looked away. This woman was experienced, able to maintain conversation while offering no personal insights of her own. She was chatty enough about the local hospital and the patients there, and freely spoke about her experiences at the Manchester Royal Infirmary, but that was her professional opinion. When it came to personal topics, the woman was tighter than a clam.

"I must confess that I was surprised when Robert told me that Matthew was a bachelor," Violet said as she set her teacup back in its saucer.

"How so?" Isobel asked casually.

"He is much older than either Robert or James were when they married. I expected a man of his age to arrive here with a wife and perhaps even a child in tow," Violet explained.

"It seems to me that it doesn't matter the age that one weds, so long as one marries for the right reasons. Matthew is very much like his father, willing to wait until the right woman for him comes along, so I'm not concerned," Isobel replied.

"Hmm," Violet said. "Well, you certainly need not be concerned about whether he will have options available to him. He's clearly sociable and enjoys the company of women. The number who flocked around him in London was impressive. I can see that he is comfortable being the centre of attention, the result of being an only child, I suspect."

"I'm sure he was only acting upon Cousin Robert's instructions to be social with the guests," Isobel nodded. "Matthew knows when to speak and when to listen. He's not against making pleasant conversation with whoever seeks his attention. It is a rather bold leap to go from that to saying he is interested in any of them, however."

"But he must choose a wife eventually," Violet forged ahead. "And now that his prospects give him a much larger field to choose from, so much the better."

"I like to think that Matthew's wife would choose him out of love, and not because of his prospects," Isobel smiled tightly.

"My dear, as lovely as that sounds, one can never truly outrun one's lot in life. You need only look to Mary for proof of that," Violet sighed.

"Well, I don't know Mary very well," Isobel said lightly. "But I would hate to think that her story is already written for someone so young."

"There are many who would disagree with you," Violet said pointedly. "Your view is not a popular one, even within this family."

"I take that as a compliment," Isobel smiled, sipping her tea once more.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary entered the library and frowned as she realized she was not alone. The dreary wet day was keeping her inside and away from Diamond, and she decided a book was a perfect tonic. She wasn't the only one seeking the refuge of the library however. Edith sat alone at the large table in the centre of the room, staring at a chess board. She touched the pieces but obviously had no one to play with.<p>

"Too wet to ride?" Edith said with a bored voice, not looking up from the board.

"Edith," Mary replied. "I came looking for a book to escape into. What in Heaven's name are you doing?"

"Thinking," Edith said quietly. "I saw the board set up and became distracted. I think Cousin Matthew and Papa were playing earlier."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't disturb the board," Mary said idly, perusing the bookshelves. "Papa will be cross with you if you've ruined his game."

"What's the bother? I'm already a failure in his eyes, in everyone's eyes," Edith said listlessly.

Mary stopped staring at the bookshelves and turned towards her sister. While Edith had a tendency to be rather pitiful, that comment was unexpected. Mary frowned as she stepped towards her.

"What's brought on this lamenting?" Mary asked suspiciously.

Edith touched the white marble knight on the board. "Do you remember the birthday parties that Cousin James used to organize when we were children?"

Mary nodded slowly. "They had a joint party for you and Patrick, since you were born in the same month."

"Those parties were always so much fun," Edith smiled wanly. "I knew that everyone was focused on Patrick, but they had to wish me well also. It was as though I had a part of the spotlight for once, that one afternoon each year."

Mary rolled her eyes. She didn't have such fond memories of those Patrick's birthday parties. As they grew older and the understanding between them was invented by their fathers, Patrick kept asking her for a kiss on his birthday.

"What's happened to us as a family, Mary?" Edith mused. "We used to talk, really talk, all of us together, and we'd have outings together. The Fair is coming to the Village next month and no one's mentioned it at all except the servants. There just isn't the same joy anymore among us."

"I haven't noticed," Mary said coldly. "Between being scorned, banished and ostracized it's hard to remember the 'joy', as you put it."

"And yet you've still come back," Edith retorted. "I must say that it isn't as though the rest of us were getting along famously before you appeared again. I think that Papa still hasn't recovered from losing Cousin James and Patrick."

"I wouldn't say that. He's taken to Cousin Matthew quite eagerly. They're inseparable," Mary said dismissively.

"Don't you find it curious that Mama hasn't pushed me towards Cousin Matthew yet? She hasn't said one word about it, or encouraged me to take care of him or even arranged for us to sit beside each other at dinner," Edith said.

"Truthfully, yes," Mary nodded. "Though from my limited knowledge of Cousin Matthew, I don't know if the two of you are a good match, I expected Mama to throw you at him, if only to keep him under control."

"The same way that you were thrown at Patrick," Edith said bitterly.

"Not exactly," Mary murmured.

"And yet she hasn't," Edith continued. "It must mean that they think I am neither beautiful enough to entice him, nor smart enough to be Countess one day. I don't think that Cousin Matthew is particularly special, but I expected that plans would be made for us. It makes me wonder if Mama knows what to do with me, now."

"If I were you, I would be thankful," Mary said. "When they plan around you, Edith, it can only end in disappointment. No matter how perfect you are, how faithful you are, how dutiful you are to what they want, it's never enough. It's never enough because they expect you to make up for their own failures, and that's an impossible task."

Edith frowned and looked at her sister curiously.

"What happened, Mary? Truly? That night, that night with the Turk when they said that you…what really happened? Nothing has been the same since then," Edith said quietly.

"It doesn't matter what I say about that night," Mary said bitterly. "So, it's best that I don't say anything at all. You have Papa's version, that's the only one that matters, the one that everyone believes."

Edith sighed and looked away.

"It will be Cousin Matthew's first proper Season in a few months. Everyone knows about him now, and his dance card will be filled. Cousin James and Papa were both younger than him when they were each engaged to their wives. Maybe…maybe once he is settled, things will get better."

"If you're staking your happiness on whether Cousin Matthew finds a wife in a few months time, you're being foolish," Mary said, trying to contain her agitation. "His future isn't tied to ours."

"But if he does find someone, that will be one less thing for Papa to worry about, and one less match for Mama to be concerned with," Edith said with a small hopeful smile. "Then perhaps they'll turn their attention to us again, and we'll be a family."

"Don't be so eager for Mama to take up your cause, Edith," Mary warned, turning back towards the bookshelves. "You may not like the plan she settles on for you."

Edith watched as Mary went back to searching for a book to read. She shook her head, then looked back at the chess board.

Mary glanced from one title to another, not focusing on any of them. Edith's words were still ringing in her ears. Matthew's Season was approaching, and Mary wasn't entirely sure she could handle that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Are you sure I can't interest you to join me?" Robert asked, blowing on his cigar. "They're very good, you know."<p>

"No, thank you," Matthew said quickly. He glanced at his empty glass to save him. "I wouldn't mind a refill of the elderberry wine, however."

Robert gestured towards Carson, and Matthew's glass was filled.

"How was your business in London?" Robert asked.

"Fine," Matthew nodded. "I visited with Murray again and met with some of the members of the House. I think I'm beginning to make heads and tails of everything."

"I like such eagerness," Robert said confidently. "Have you found any ideas?"

"I have," Matthew continued. "A lot of the land is sitting unused which nets us no income. Of the land that is occupied, well, the tenants are paying rents well below the market price. Perhaps if we…"

"Hold on," Robert interrupted, raising his hand. "It's an understandable mistake that you are making, Matthew. This isn't a city business. You may see numbers on paper, but Downton is far more than that. A great many people depend upon us."

"But it doesn't help anyone if the Estate isn't doing as well as it can," Matthew replied.

"I know that you mean well," Robert nodded patronisingly. "But we have no reason to worry about money or profits. You saw the books yourself. As long as Downton is financially secure, we can afford to help our people out. I'm not concerned about making more money. We have enough."

"I understand," Matthew said as he finished his wine. "Since we appear solvent there is nothing to discuss."

Robert thought about his heir's comment for several moments, then snuffed out his cigar on the tray in front of him. "I've given my life to this place, so I care what happens more than anyone else. My duty is to work with you so that when all of this is yours one day, you are prepared to carry it on as you should. It's not for me to fill the coffers for you. I won't leave you bankrupt when you inherit, God willing, but I won't drastically change the way things are done either when all seems to be smooth and steady at the moment."

Matthew nodded.

"Now, let's go so they can get in here. You can continue to have your meetings and ask your questions. That's your right. But if you wish to change anything around here, you must run it by me first, and I must say that I am content with the way things are."

Matthew nodded and rose from the dining table. He frowned as he followed Robert through.

* * *

><p>Mary walked quickly and quietly down the darkened hall. She did not dare light the candle she was carrying for fear she could be detected. It was easy enough to cross to the Bachelor's Wing. She felt safe here for some reason. Perhaps it was knowing that only Matthew was dwelling in this part of the house, that they were somehow insulated from the rest of her family and the servants. While the thrill of coming to him in his bedroom late at night was ever present, it wasn't just the danger that Mary found strangely exciting. It was the illusion that in this separate wing of Downton Abbey, they were truly alone, husband and wife, together at last.<p>

Tonight she turned away from his bedroom and went down the hall to the stairs. His figure was cloaked in shadows, but she smiled as she neared him.

"Who goes there?" he whispered.

"Just me," Mary smirked as she neared him.

"And who are you?" he asked.

"Your consort, of course," Mary said.

"Crikey, I'll never live that down, will I?" he said. The faint light of the outdoors filtered in through the window at the end of the hall and Matthew took her in his arms gratefully.

"You'll never live down propositioning your wife to be your concubine? Goodness, I can't imagine why that would be considered the subject of ridicule," Mary said lightly.

"Careful, Mary," Matthew growled. "You know what months without you does to me."

She snickered, trying to keep her voice down as he pulled her close to him and kissed her soundly. His tongue caressed hers and his hand moved down her robe to grab her bottom. Mary hummed in delight as she returned his kiss.

"Control yourself!" she scolded him as they separated. "We're supposed to be on a mission!'

"Oh, I have a very clear objective in mind," Matthew snarled.

"Darling, we were just together in London in March," Mary shook her head.

"It's almost May now, Mary!" Matthew whinged.

"I don't understand how you can be so insatiable," Mary laughed. "It's not as though we had free rein in Manchester."

"We still managed to be together more often than this," Matthew huffed, reaching for the doorknob in front of them. "And why are you so accepting of it? I thought you said that it was torture for you as well."

"Now you're being childish," Mary frowned, stepping across the threshold into the darkness beyond. "You know how I feel. You're only bringing this up because you want to hear me admit how frantic I am to make love to you."

"And are you?" Matthew asked pointedly.

"A valiant attempt, but a Lady does not discuss such things," Mary said haughtily.

Matthew shook his head. He took out the matches from his robe and lit Mary's candle. He closed the door behind them and followed her up the stairs.

"You're sure that we don't need keys?" Matthew asked.

"The attics are off limits to servants unless instructed to fetch something," Mary explained. "Papa would never stand by and wait for Carson or Mrs. Hughes to bring a key for him, so the doors are kept unlocked."

"Does your Papa come up here often, then?" Matthew asked.

"Of course not," Mary scoffed as they went up the stairs. "He wants it made clear that he has the right to go up if he chooses, but he never does. It's all about appearances, darling."

Mary reached the top of the stairs and smiled triumphantly at Matthew as she turned the doorknob and opened the door to the attics.

"Wait," Matthew said, stepping beside her. "Let me go first."

He stepped past her, pinching her bottom as he went. Mary rolled her eyes and followed him.

"If this was all a ruse to get me alone, your bedroom would have been a far more preferable venue," Mary said as they crept past furniture covered by large linen sheets.

"Must you always think about having sex with me?" Matthew frowned at her with mock annoyance. "We're here to look for something."

Mary smirked at her husband's cheek and followed him as he wandered from room to room, glancing about before moving on.

"It's remarkably clean up here for an attic," Matthew remarked as he looked through an armoire.

"Even though no one comes up here, it's still dusted every month," Mary said. "It saves us the trouble in the event we ever actually want to retrieve anything to use in one of the rooms."

Matthew kept rummaging. Mary kept holding the candle.

"Perhaps if I knew what we were looking for, I wouldn't feel so bored," Mary said.

Matthew laughed and looked at her with an expression of both annoyance and adoration.

"Fine. We're looking for something that would have been brought up here in the last year or so, which is why we can ignore most of the furniture and focus instead on the boxes," Matthew said, walking briskly over to an old sideboard covered in boxes.

"But how do we know what exactly we're looking for?" Mary asked, standing beside him as he looked methodically through the boxes. "It isn't as though we would have seen any of the servants bring anything up."

"No, but when the household is run pursuant to Carson's strict discipline, it is entirely predictable how certain items will be treated, and therefore it is also a safe bet that those items will end up here," Matthew said, digging through another box. "And these attics are almost as neatly organized as my mother's back in Manchester."

"And what items are you talking about?" Mary asked in exasperation.

Matthew grinned as he held up a stack of envelopes in one hand and three books in the other.

"The remaining personal effects of Louis, former valet to the late Patrick Crawley," Matthew declared.

* * *

><p>Matthew frowned as he finished reading the letter and passed it to Mary.<p>

"It mentions how warm it is in Southampton, and not much else," Matthew sighed.

Mary looked it over briefly, then added it to the pile of letters they had already reviewed.

"So, we have Louis sending letters to Thomas whenever he was away from Downton for a fair bit of time, but they don't reveal anything about you," Matthew said.

"I do remember that they worked closely together," Mary said. "But, there's hardly any reason to write down one's feelings when they can be spoken so easily and often. And we don't have any proof of any relationship to begin with. Certainly none of us suspected it. We knew about Thomas' preference and chose to ignore it mainly. No one suspected anything of Louis. I never wondered about it until you came up with the theory."

"I'm convinced of it. You should have seen the way Thomas spoke Louis' name, Mary. It wasn't with mere courtesy. There was pain there, I could see it," Matthew said. "They had to be lovers, Mary. Why else would Thomas speak out against you on something that he never actually witnessed?"

"As intriguing a theory as this is, darling, Thomas won't admit to anything unless you find something to confront him with," Mary said.

"We'll just have to keep looking. I'll bring these back up," Matthew sighed. He took the pile of letters and put them back in the box. He then picked up some of the books and put them away as well.

"What's that?" Mary frowned, glancing at the box. She reached over and pulled out a Bible.

"It was in the box with everything else. I suppose Louis was religious," Matthew shrugged.

"No, it's not just that," Mary said, looking at the cover. "Cousin James insisted that all the servants have one after they'd been with us for several months. He and Papa didn't like the servants to read anything else except letters from home."

"They're easily obtained," Matthew nodded. "No reason for Carson to take it back to give to someone else."

Mary opened the Bible and leafed through it. Her face brightened as she pulled out a small photograph buried partway through it.

"What's that?" Matthew asked.

Mary grinned at her husband as she turned the photograph for him to see. It was a formal photo of the servants standing outside the front doors of Downton Abbey. Louis and Thomas were standing next to each other on the end of the row.

"A strange bookmark," Matthew frowned. "But not helpful for us at all."

"I disagree, darling," Mary smiled, turning the photograph over and handing it to him. Matthew's eyes widened as he read the handwriting on the back.

'_Louis, be mindful of Leviticus 20:13 – Patrick.'_

"If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them," Matthew recited, turning to the correct page. "How did he know?"

"He must have caught them somehow. Perhaps they exchanged letters that only Thomas kept. However it happened, Patrick knew," Mary said.

"If Patrick found out that Thomas and Louis had a relationship, he could have blackmailed them into corroborating his story and the lies he made up about you to have you banished," Matthew said.

"Or, Louis may have convinced Thomas to go along with the idea out of loyalty to Patrick, promises that they would both be valets when Patrick inherited Downton, and used this photograph and Patrick's knowledge of their relationship as additional leverage. It may not have taken much convincing. Thomas was never fond of me. He followed O'Brien in that regard," Mary rolled her eyes.

"Regardless, we've found what we were searching for," Matthew smiled.

"Did we?" Mary asked lightly. "I seem to recall that I found it. You were ready to send the box back up to the attics without even looking at the Bible."

"We're a team, remember?" Matthew leered, moving towards her. "And we may have just found the evidence to turn the only living witness to your alleged scandal back to the light of truth."

Mary smiled and kissed him, her hands coming up and caressing his face. Her Matthew was so naïve, so full of hope. Even if they could somehow coerce Thomas into changing his testimony, there was no guarantee that her Papa would believe him, nor that all would be forgiven. But as Matthew laughed huskily and pushed her onto her back, she set aside her cynicism for the moment and celebrated their small victory.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Office of the Attorney-General, Palace of Westminster, London, England, May 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Matthew Crawley, as I live and breathe," the man smiled as he came around his desk and shook Matthew's hand.<p>

"Viscount Simon. John," Matthew nodded, taking the offered seat as Viscount Simon sat back down behind his desk. "I'm sorry to bother you. I'm also sorry that it's taken me so long to come and see you."

"Don't be, Matthew," John waved his hand. "I'm truly sorry that I couldn't make it back to Manchester for the funeral. I know that my Papa passed along my regrets, but I feel terribly that I let your family down in such a fashion."

"You did no such thing," Matthew shook his head. "It was kind of your parents to be there. Mother appreciated it very much. And I know how busy you are."

"Well, just the same, I am glad to see you doing so well," John nodded. "I would even welcome coming to Yorkshire for a visit someday, if only to get me away from these damn fools in London. Churchill's naval estimates are astounding. Anyway, you didn't come here to talk about that, and moreover I doubt that Lord Grantham would welcome me into his home."

"_You_ might get through the door," Matthew smiled. "The Prime Minister may need to use the servants' entrance."

John laughed. "Now, what can I do for you, Matthew?"

"Actually, I was hoping that you could once again show me the error of my ways," Matthew said. "I've been researching a particular point of law and I keep coming to the same answer, but it can't be correct."

Matthew passed a thin brief across the desk to John. The Attorney-General leafed through it quickly. He closed it and slid it across his desk back to Matthew. He looked away for several moments, thinking to himself, then finally turned back.

"If you want me to tell you that there's a way to break the entail that does not involve a private bill in Parliament, I can't do that, Matthew," John said.

Matthew's head dropped. He exhaled in frustration.

"Your analysis is sound. Your study of the case law and the statutes are correct," John continued. "Get a bill passed and the entail can be amended or quashed. Other than that, the Courts won't touch it."

"But no private bill has any chance of succeeding unless I can prove that the Estate is in danger," Matthew frowned.

"Even then, you may have some difficulty, particularly if Lord Grantham isn't on your side. I take it he doesn't know about your investigations?" John asked.

"No, he's content to leave things as they are," Matthew said.

"He's not alone there. Their kind of people enjoy maintaining the old ways, Matthew," John said.

"But it's entirely unnecessary," Matthew said. "I'm the sole male heir living. With or without an entail, the title of Earl of Grantham will pass to me. Lord Grantham would never bequeath the land to anyone else either. He's been raised to have both run together. He wouldn't dare change that."

"You don't need to convince me on the archaic nature of entails, Matthew," John smiled. "It's all the toffs sitting in the House who you need to vote in favour of your bill that you need to sway. A far reaching omnibus law that changes property laws as we know them is doomed to fail. A carefully crafted bill dealing only with your family's situation may be insignificant enough to get through, if only because most won't care about it either way."

"But I need someone to get the bill put before Parliament to even have a chance," Matthew sighed.

John smiled. "Don't play with me, Matthew. We've known each other too long and I don't deserve it. Not from you."

Matthew smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, John. I would never presume or want to impose upon you for…"

"Draft your bill, make a good argument, and I'll get it before Parliament, Matthew," John nodded. "Not only is it the least I can do for everything your father did for my family, but I wouldn't mind seeing those old Tory biddies in the House riled up a little bit."

"Thank you, John. I don't know how good a case I can make, but I appreciate it," Matthew smiled.

"Do your best, Matthew. You'll only get one crack at this, I'm afraid. If you lose, Lord Grantham will turn the House against you for years to come. I can get it to a vote, but after that, it's out of my hands," John said firmly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, May 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew walked through the Village feeling rather desperate. He'd left Downton Abbey earlier that afternoon and just walked, stopping in briefly at Crawley House to visit his mother, then kept walking. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions pulling him in several directions at once, and he needed to get away from the big house, away from Robert, away from the nagging feelings that were plaguing him.<p>

Mathew's mood was very obviously out of place as he saw the Village in a frenzy of enjoyment. Everywhere he looked he saw children laughing and a general atmosphere of merriment. He saw some of the servants and nodded to them politely, touching the brim of his bowler hat as he continued on aimlessly.

Eight months ago he'd arrived at Downton Abbey armed with his wits and a plan to restore Mary. All he needed to do was review the entail and find a hole, any gap, any weakness that he could pick at long enough to destroy it from within. The document had been drafted generations ago, and countless laws had been rendered obsolete in that same time. The system of aristocratic titles passing from one male to another went back to the Middle Ages and Mathew could do nothing about that. He would be the Earl of Grantham and no one could stop it. But he could change the rest of it; fix it so that Robert could not object to Mary being his wife and taking her rightful place. All he needed to do was get rid of the entail. His first idea was to bring a proceeding to the Estates Court and have the entail declared invalid based on a failure to comply with applicable laws for such instruments. The morality clause, the requirement that the Earl work with his heir, the merging of the Levinson money with the Estate, there had to be something about any of that which was improper. If that didn't work, he would seek his own amendment, asking a judge to remove the morality clause entirely, arguing that it had nothing to do with the main purpose of the entail, which was to deal with land.

But the entail had proven far more sound than he'd thought or hoped. There was nothing glaringly wrong with it. At its heart it was a list of conditions required for the Estate to be passed from one individual to another, and that individual was the Earl of Grantham. If there was no male heir, or no man suitable to fulfil all the terms of the entail, then the title would fall and the government would decide what became of the land. Matthew's meeting with the Attorney-General only confirmed his fears. He was beyond the help of the Courts now. He was out of his element.

He tried. He really did. Even Mary did not blame him when he broke the news to her upon his return from London last week. His mother said cheerfully that his father would have been proud of his effort, and that it was not Matthew's fault that the ancient document was legally sound. Neither of them understood fully how daunting a task it was to bring a private bill in Parliament, particularly without Robert's support. Despite there being a clear path now on what he had to do, Matthew felt that he already failed. He failed his father's last wishes. He failed his wife. He dragged her and his mother to Yorkshire on a wild adventure that was now doomed.

"Cousin Matthew," a voice called and he turned to see Sybil's smiling face approaching.

"Sybil," Matthew nodded, touching his hat. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Sybil always enjoys the Fair," Mary said as she came up beside them. "I think it has something to do with the candy floss."

Sybil grinned and offered some of the pink confection to Matthew.

"That's very kind of you," Matthew said briskly. He pulled apart a small clump and popped it in his mouth, letting it dissolve slowly.

"What are you doing here, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked.

Matthew glanced around searching for some excuse beyond wanting to see the Fair or getting some fresh air.

"Thought I'd have a go before I head home," he said, his eyes falling on one of the gaming stalls. "What about you?" he asked, nodding towards the stall.

"No, thank you," Sybil laughed. "That's not for me. I was going to meet Edith for some lemonade actually."

"Go on, darling," Mary smiled at her youngest sister. "I'll show Cousin Matthew around and meet you later near the ring toss."

Sybil smiled at Matthew and left.

"Shall we?" Mary smiled, heading towards the Coconut Saloon.

Matthew paid the attendant and they each took the offered balls and threw them at the arranged bottles. Mary was quite adept, her light underhand toss surprisingly effective compared to Matthew's wayward overhand pitches.

"Did they not have fairs back in Manchester, Cousin Matthew? Your aim seems to be off," Mary said with the formal air of superiority that she used when addressing him in front of her family and in public.

"I seem to be distracted," Matthew managed. "But I have no qualms about being vanquished by such a worthy adversary, Cousin Mary."

Mary looked at him curiously, a slight smirk crossing her lips before turning back to her side of the game.

"Why don't we go again?" she said. "I'll give you a chance to earn your dignity back."

Matthew pulled more coins from his pocket and passed them to the attendant.

"Do you find me so shallow that I would take losing to you at a game of pitch and toss as an insult, Cousin Mary?" Matthew asked, his mood lightening.

"I don't know, Cousin Matthew," Mary replied. "But I would find it quite disappointing if you were to capitulate so easily. It's no concern of mine at all, but a lady does find a man who is willing to put up a fight far more attractive."

"Well then," Matthew smiled, looking at Mary directly. "Let battle commence?"

Mary glanced over at him and smiled quickly, her eyes briefly taking on the seductive and playful look that he loved so much.

"Let battle commence," Mary nodded, turning back to her targets.

Matthew barely won the next game, which led to another to break the tie, and another after that for him to try and even the score. He kept smiling as they went along, realizing that they could easily be doing the same thing as husband and wife, attending the Village Fair together and playing a simple game, throwing bets and barbs back and forth. The weight of all that was swirling around them was still lingering beyond the stall somewhere, but as Matthew cheered his victory and at a nod from Mary, paid for another round, he found he could forget all of that, and enjoy himself with Mary as the sounds of joy were all around them.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew opened his eyes as he heard the door open. He turned in time to see Mary slide under the covers next to him. She kissed him firmly and he wrapped his arms around her, the feel of her body against his making him sigh in pleasure.<p>

"Mary," he breathed, kissing her again. "I didn't expect to see you tonight."

"I'm collecting my prize," Mary chuckled. "You didn't think that you would be spared after your defeat at the Fair did you?"

"I am at your service, my Lady," Matthew smiled, kissing her once more. "Though I wouldn't call myself a prize, to be certain."

"Matthew," Mary shook her head. "You mustn't be so unkind to yourself. We all knew what we were facing and we decided to come here just the same."

"I feel as though I've let you down," Matthew whispered. "I made all these promises, acted as though it would be…easy…and now…"

"Now, we are no worse off than we were when we arrived," Mary interjected. "In fact, we know far more than I ever did about the Estate finances and you've gained Papa's trust. I knew this would not be resolved in mere months, Matthew. But you have made progress. Surely you must see that."

"I don't know, darling," Matthew sighed. "If I could get the entail before the Estates Court, then I thought we had a chance, a good one even. But to have to go to Parliament…"

"Are you afraid because you are not familiar with the arena of Parliament?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "How will I convince anyone to side with me? I don't know how to talk to these Lords and politicians. It just seems so hopeless."

"Well, crawl before you can walk, darling. Write the bill first, then campaign for the votes you need," Mary said, brushing his hair away from his forehead.

"That's another thing. Drafting the bill is hardly straightforward. Even for a lawyer, the amount of precision and detail is intimidating," Matthew groaned. "And who knows how long campaigning will take, or whether I even know how to do that. Can you just show up at Westminster and start preaching? I just feel so lost."

"Buck up, Matthew," Mary kissed his cheek. "You can do this."

"I'm not so sure," Matthew rolled his eyes. "This may not end well, Mary."

Mary regarded him for several moments. She then pulled back and sat up in bed. She moved away from him and stood up, throwing the bedcovers away behind her.

"Mary?" Matthew frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my room," Mary said crisply. "There's nothing for me here."

Matthew sprang out of bed in alarm. "What? What are you saying?"

He froze as she turned to face him, the bed between them. The moonlight through his window cast a glow across the room, and Mary's hard stare appeared all the more frightening.

"The man that I married," Mary said coldly. "Would _never_ admit defeat. The man that I married, my husband, laughs at the obstacles that life throws at him. I gave him every reason to refuse me, to leave me, to have nothing to do with me. He shrugged all of them off and proposed to me instead. I made him live apart from me and he never wavered, never complained, never sulked even when he was within his rights to do so. He made every moment we spent together memorable, and so precious that it kept me going until the next time I could see him. The man that I married, Matthew, does not know the meaning of the word _hopeless_. He is the embodiment of hope itself, because I've placed all of mine in him."

Matthew stood speechless as Mary turned for the door.

"You don't need to win, Matthew," Mary called out over her shoulder. "You don't need to be perfect. Your plan doesn't even need to work. But if you don't even fight, if you don't even try, for both of us, then you aren't the man I married, and you aren't the man I thought you were."

Mary's lip quivered as she reached a shaky hand towards the doorknob.

Matthew's palm slammed forcefully against the door before she could open it, causing her to gasp. She spun around, her hands against his chest, his warm breath on her cheek.

"You're not going anywhere, Mary," Matthew said with a choked voice.

"Are you still afraid of some foolish Lords and politicians?" Mary demanded, her pulse quickening.

"It will be a battle, and Robert will be furious," Matthew whispered, kissing her cheek softly.

"Angering Papa? Now you're just teasing me," Mary smiled, pressing herself against him.

"I love you, Mary," Matthew pleaded. "You mean a great deal, a very great deal. I can't bear to see you wronged again."

"You can't protect me from everything, Matthew," Mary said kindly, caressing his cheek. "Remember what we said? If it all goes wrong, if we don't succeed, we'll go continue our life together somewhere else. But we'll be together, Matthew. Nothing will change that."

"I guess that I just need to have more faith, Mary," Matthew smiled. "I'll fight for you, I swear it."

"You're not alone, Matthew," Mary smiled, kissing him. "We can do this together. Who do you think the Lords are that you need to convince? Many of the same people that you met in December and that you'll meet next month. I know them, Matthew. I know their daughters and their wives, and in some cases, their secrets. That is your advantage. I won't let you face them alone and unarmed, darling. We'll fight together."

Matthew grinned, then swept her up in his arms. Mary laughed as she kissed his face, her arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her to bed and lay down beside her.

They kissed again as their hands worked quickly and easily, the experienced knowledge of lovers allowing them to remove each other's clothes with practised confidence. Matthew kissed her shoulder, then moved down to capture her breast, his fingers rubbing gentle circles across her hips.

"Mary," he whispered reverently, kissing his way to her waist.

"I believe that you said something about being at my service?" Mary said, raising her eyebrow at him.

Matthew smirked. Mary raised her hips as he removed her knickers, then cried out softly as he kissed her thigh.

"As you wish, my Lady," Matthew whispered, before ensuring that Mary was in no condition to reply with words.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 1914**_

* * *

><p>Matthew came walking down the lane. He looked curiously at the motor parked in front of the house. As he approached, Branson nodded to him respectfully.<p>

"Mr. Crawley, sir," Branson tipped his cap.

"Branson," Matthew replied easily. "Someone going somewhere?"

"Yes, sir," Branson nodded, looking somewhat nervous.

"And who would that be?" Matthew asked, puzzled at the chauffeur's behaviour.

"Erm, it's Lady Sybil, sir, and Lady Mary," Branson said quietly.

"And where are you taking them, exactly?" Matthew asked.

"To Ripon, sir. Lady Sybil has a charity committee meeting and Lady Mary is accompanying her, by order of Her Ladyship," Branson replied.

"Ah," Matthew nodded. "And they're getting ready, are they?"

"Lady Sybil is inside, sir. Lady Mary went for a stroll. We'll leave when she comes back, sir," Branson said.

"Thank you, Branson," Matthew said. "I need to speak to Lady Mary before she leaves."

"Yes, sir," Branson tipped his hat once more as Matthew walked away.

* * *

><p>Mary turned the page of her book, the words appearing muddled and uninteresting. She wasn't necessarily interested in reading, but she didn't want to be indoors waiting on Sybil. It was bad enough that her Mama ordered her to accompany her youngest sister after the debacle earlier in the week that had driven her Papa to bang his fist so rudely at the dinner table. Mary didn't want to be within range should there be another commotion before they left.<p>

She smirked as she felt eyes upon her. It was remarkable how she could sense his presence and he hers. She knew his scent of course, and his aftershave and the cologne he wore on rare occasions, but none of those came to her now. It was just a flutter in her heart and mind, something that compelled her to look up because he would be there.

"Are you stalking me, Cousin Matthew?" she asked easily.

"Hello, Cousin Mary," Matthew smirked, tipping his cap to her as he arrived at the bench.

"What are you doing here?" she smiled.

"Obviously looking for you. Branson says you're going to Ripon with Sybil," Matthew said, sitting down next to her.

"Sadly, that's true," Mary rolled her eyes. "If she hadn't been caught the other night, I wouldn't be assigned to chaperone her this evening."

"Robert was rather angry," Matthew chuckled. "Truthfully I find it all rather comical."

"Sybil's discovered politics, which of course makes Papa see red. It's entirely predictable, and pathetic, really," Mary huffed. "Heaven forbid any of us should have our own opinions on anything."

"I do think part of his concern is genuine, but he takes it too far," Matthew smiled. "I admire Sybil's passion, though."

"Of course," Mary nodded. "But then, we like a good argument. Papa does not."

"So I've learned. Would you like me to come with you? I can say that I was interested in the goings on in Ripon," Matthew said.

"Thank you, darling. I would love nothing more, but these charity committee meetings are utterly boring. I'll be tearing my hair out before the night is through, I expect," Mary sighed.

"Well, don't do that, please," Matthew implored her.

"Why? Do you like my hair the way it is?" Mary teased.

"I do," Matthew nodded, looking at her intently. "And if you were to lose any of it, that would prevent me from running my fingers through it, which you know I greatly enjoy doing."

"Matthew!" Mary scolded him, blushing slightly and looking down at her lap. "That is entirely inappropriate conversation for the dinner hour."

"Then perhaps you'll let me speak to you later this evening about my particular preferences for your hair," Matthew whispered lustfully.

"You can't put me in such a state before I leave with Sybil!" Mary complained. "Besides, you're supposed to be practising your charm for use when we get to London, not leering at me."

"Is it still considered leering if it's my wife who I am captivated by?" Matthew asked innocently.

"It is when I know the exact thoughts running through your head," Mary said pointedly. "Now, how is your draft coming?"

"It's finished," Matthew sighed, sitting back on the bench. "I have no idea if it's any good or not, but it's all I've been doing for the past two weeks. The thrust of it is actually quite short; the reason it goes on for so many pages is all the preamble and background and chaff that is thrown in with the rest."

"Well you have months yet to polish it," Mary said. "You shouldn't bring the bill forward until you know how many votes you can count on."

"I don't think I'll be ready until the House returns in September," Matthew shook his head. "That's considered fast by Parliamentary standards, but to drag this on for another four months is sickening."

"Oh, I don't know," Mary smiled. "I don't mind all the sneaking around, truly. It's as though we're Capulets and Montagues."

Matthew laughed ruefully. "Have you found a moment for us to go to the Berkeley when we get to London?"

"Matthew, your desire for me is adorable but honestly, is that all you think about?" Mary shook her head.

"It isn't _all_ that I think about," Matthew retorted. "It's just a significant part of my thoughts."

"Well, then you'll be pleased to know that I've announced that I'm going up early. With Sybil's Ball and everything else going on, they'll hardly notice me," Mary smirked.

"That…is brilliant," Matthew swallowed.

"It will also give me time to have tea with various people and gather intelligence for your efforts," Mary nodded.

Matthew grinned at her.

"So you're leaving me to fend for myself, then?" Matthew asked. "Well, Edith will be company I suppose."

"Luckily for you, she won't be," Mary snickered. "She's gone to a concert with Sir Anthony in York, and Mama agreed to let her have dinner with him and the Jervas' afterwards."

"That's quite generous of her," Matthew blinked.

"Mama and Papa enjoy flinging us at whomever they deem worthy. In Edith's case, they don't find it strange at all that she should step out with a man nearly Papa's age," Mary smiled.

"He seemed nice enough the other night at dinner," Matthew said.

"I suppose so, but then I wasn't paying much attention to him. The modernisation of farm machinery is hardly a topic of interest," Mary shrugged.

Matthew laughed.

"Well, if all three of you will be gone this evening, then I'll go and have dinner with Mother at Crawley House. Robert won't object to that, surely," Matthew said.

"Best to just go and leave word that you've gone," Mary smiled. "Don't give him a chance to say no."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"I need to go," Mary huffed, rising from the bench. "Sybil will be ready by now."

She raised her hand as he stood up. "You can't kiss me, Matthew," she said apologetically.

"But there's no one here but us!" Matthew whinged.

"Unless Branson was sent to retrieve me. It's too dangerous. Darling, I'll see you tonight when I return. If dinner is already finished, then wait for me in your room," Mary whispered.

"Very well. Try and stay awake during the committee meeting," Matthew smiled, tipping his cap to her.

"I'll try, but no promises," Mary rolled her eyes. "This evening will be ridiculously boring."

* * *

><p><em><strong>City Hall, Ripon, Yorkshire, England, May 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Where to from here, Lady Sybil?" Branson asked, looking back at her.<p>

"Here will do, Branson. We've arrived," Sybil smiled, looking out the window eagerly.

"Your meeting is in one of these buildings?" Mary asked.

"This is the meeting. We're here for the counting of the votes," Sybil beamed.

Branson's mouth dropped open.

"What are you talking about?" Mary asked suspiciously. "You told Papa you had a charity committee meeting."

"Don't be silly. You didn't think I'd miss my very first by-election?" Sybil said, nodding to Mary with growing excitement.

"I don't think his Lordship would approve," Branson mumbled.

"I know that his Lordship would certainly not approve," Mary said. "Darling, please. There's a reason that Papa didn't want you here."

"Yes, he doesn't think I have opinions. But I do, Mary! And I'm going!" Sybil declared. She opened the door and stepped outside the car.

"Lady Sybil!" Branson called.

Mary huffed in exasperation. "Go and park the car, Branson. I'll let her see the mob for a few minutes, then we'll get her home, by throwing her in the boot if we have to," Mary said, following after her sister.

"Hurry up, Mary!" Sybil said, gesturing to her sister as they came into the City Hall Courtyard where the crowds were gathering for the by-election vote count. "We're just in time!"

"We are not going to stay very long," Mary said, taking Sybil's arm. "I'm not pleased with you for lying to me, but I also don't want anything to happen to you in this turbulent rabble. I agree with Papa that it is dangerous, so you can hear them make the announcement, then we're going."

"I'm not Emily Davidson," Sybil said with a sigh, "I'm not trying to achieve any goal or garnish attention for my cause. I don't have a specific cause to champion yet. I just want to be a participant. After all that is what the suffragettes want, active rights to contribute."

Mary rolled her eyes and they joined the crowd. Mary felt uncomfortable here. Despite Sybil's previous attendances at political events, they still stood out. So many of the people around them wore modest clothing, to say nothing for the fact the crowd was mainly comprised of men.

Mary glanced about, looking for all the exits from the Courtyard. She'd learned from Matthew to always know how to get in and out of wherever she found herself. Their secret meetings and liaisons in Manchester required that they constantly had a plan on where to go to avoid being spotted together and how to leave through separate paths if necessary. To her consternation, Mary realized there was only one exit close by, the same archway they had entered through. The gathered crowd made trying to navigate to any of the other exits unreasonable.

The crowd seemed to grow and move. There was jostling all around them and yells and calls and racket from various groups across the Courtyard.

"Vote for women! Vote for women!" came one shout.

"Vote for women!" Sybil echoed.

"Sybil!" Mary squeezed her arm in warning, but her youngest sister ignored her and looked about with glee.

"Tory bastards!" came another shout.

The official came out on stage and raised his hand, calling for attention as he read from the vote results.

"The Hon. Joseph Gerald Antsy, MP, member of the Conservative and Unionist Party, 6,363 votes."

The news was greeted with jeers from one end of the Courtyard and cheers from the other.

"Martin James Dillon, for the Socialist Party, 2,741 votes."

"There, it's done. We're going, Sybil," Mary said quickly, pulling on her sister's arm.

"Wait! They haven't read off the Liberal candidate yet," Sybil said.

"A Tory has held this seat for decades, Sybil," Mary retorted. "It won't matter. Let's go."

"Trevor Andrew Morgan, the Liberal Party, 5,894 votes."

A roar came up from behind them as more and more people came into the Courtyard. The noise drowned out the official as he declared the Conservative candidate the winner. Mary pulled hard on Sybil's arm again.

"There! You saw your first by-election! My, wasn't it just thrilling? Now, let's go!" Mary commanded, raising her voice to be heard.

Sybil reluctantly allowed Mary to pull her away, her eyes still focused on the stage and the official gesturing to the crowd for calm. As Mary shoved her way through the crowd, a commotion started to their right.

"What's your problem, then?" one man shouted.

"It's you, you bloody Tory!" came the answer.

"Lady Mary!" Branson called, reaching her through the crowd.

"Branson! We're going!" Mary ordered.

Branson turned around to clear a path for them. As they moved, the right side of the crowd swayed as fighting broke out. Mary looked up to see Branson move past three shouting men. They were thrown back as Mary reached them. She twisted out of the way, but lost her grip on Sybil's arm as she turned.

"Sybil!" Mary cried.

Time seemed to stop as she saw a large man back into Sybil, sending her falling off her feet, her head falling to the pavement with a sickening thud.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Crawley House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, May 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew sat in the parlour, smiling at Abel picking at his food in the birdcage.<p>

"Still not a word from him?" Matthew asked, glancing over at Isobel.

"He chirps quite a bit, but nothing recognizable," Isobel smiled, sipping her sherry. "He seems happy though, which is enough for me. Having him here is a pleasant reminder of home."

Matthew smiled and walked around the sofa, balancing his brandy snifter in one hand.

"Molesley seemed rather disappointed that you dismissed him for the evening so early," Matthew chuckled.

"Oh, really Matthew," Isobel shook her head. "It's not as though I distrust Molesley; he is an excellent servant. But, he isn't Davis. He isn't someone I think of as part of my family. Especially when we have to discuss matters of a sensitive nature."

"I spoke with John Simon again last week. He sends his regards," Matthew reported. "I expect to have a draft for him to look at when we go to London next month."

"He has done well," Isobel said proudly. "A good example of a Manchester man coming to London and making a name for himself. I know that his parents are proud."

"You're sure that you won't be coming with us for the Season?" Matthew asked.

"I did promise to attend Sybil's Ball," Isobel nodded. "But the rest of it I can do without. I'll stay here and go up with Cousin Violet."

"The two of you are getting along rather well," Matthew smiled, sipping his drink.

"She's trying to extract information on you," Isobel smiled. "But I do enjoy her conversation nonetheless. I find her to be a pleasant companion, much to my surprise. She would probably say the same."

Matthew nodded. "I'm surprised she isn't coming to London with the rest of the family. I expected she'd be watching me like a hawk, to see which young lady I wished to seduce."

"Don't joke about it, Matthew," Isobel frowned. "She doesn't like you, but she isn't against you as far as I can tell. I think she simply enjoys being out ahead of things when she can arrange it. Your wife will be Countess of Grantham, so naturally Cousin Violet wants to get to her early."

"My wife shall be Countess of Grantham indeed," Matthew smiled, raising his glass. "And she shall be a force in the county and beyond."

Isobel laughed along with her son.

They were interrupted by an urgent knock at the door. They both turned in time to see Molesley open the door and come into the room.

"Beg your pardon, Mr. Crawley, Mrs. Crawley," Molesley stammered. There are visitors."

"Visitors? At this hour?" Isobel exclaimed.

Molesley stepped aside and Branson carried Sybil into the room.

"Sybil!" Matthew shouted, coming over and taking her from the chauffeur. Matthew carried her to the sofa and laid her down. Isobel came to her immediately, running her hand along Sybil's forehead and examining the dried blood along the side of her face.

Mary came into the room, her face ashen and pale. She stepped over and stared at Sybil.

Matthew looked up at Mary. He rose and started moving towards her, then stopped himself.

"Molesley, I'll need a bowl of hot water, towels, my sewing kit and some ice. Quickly, now!" Isobel ordered.

Molesley bowed and went to fetch the items.

Isobel looked over at her son.

"Matthew," she said, nodding her head slightly.

Matthew blinked at his mother's expression.

"Branson," Matthew said. "Please wait outside. We'll deal with this. Don't leave just yet."

"Yes, sir," Branson nodded slowly. He reluctantly backed away and went out into the hall.

Molesley brought the requested items into the room. He spread them out on the table as instructed by Isobel. She then dismissed him and he closed the door behind him. Matthew went to the window and ensured the drapes were completely closed. Mary remained rooted to the spot, staring at Sybil.

Matthew came to her quickly. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, she turned and buried her face in his chest, clutching him tight.

"Mary, darling, it's all right, I'm here. You're safe," Matthew whispered, running his hand up and down her back.

"There was a fight in the crowd, she was pushed and fell, hit her head. She hasn't woken up since! I…I didn't know what to do…I didn't know where else to go," Mary sobbed. "So I had Branson bring her here."

"Quite right," Isobel said as she cleaned the gash on Sybil's head. The girl's eyes remained closed.

"Cousin Cora would have fainted if she saw her like this," Matthew mumbled. "As for Robert…"

"Oh God, Matthew," Mary cried, holding him tighter. "I had no idea she was going to lead us there. I thought we were going to some stupid committee meeting."

"She's lucky you were with her, darling," Matthew said soothingly.

"I should have pulled her out of there sooner! I should have…" Mary cringed.

"Shh…don't say that," Matthew said.

"Mary," Isobel called. "Come! I need you. You know what to do."

Mary's eyes widened and she pulled away from Matthew. She came around the sofa and knelt at her sister's side. Without prompting, she took up a towel and dipped it in the bowl of water and set about cleaning Sybil's wound.

"Sutures?" Isobel asked.

"No," Mary shook her head. "The cut itself is small, thank God."

Mary pulled the soiled towel away and Isobel took up the cleaning with a fresh towel.

Mary turned and looked around the table. She glanced around the room.

"Matthew!" she called. "I need that bottle of gin."

Matthew took it and handed it to her. Mary poured the alcohol into a bowl.

"It's all we have. It'll have to do," Isobel nodded.

Mary dipped a clean towel in the bowl of gin and passed it to Isobel.

Sybil moaned as Isobel applied alcohol to the wound.

"Cousin Sybil? Sybil, dear," Isobel called, watching as the girl opened her eyes.

"My God. Oh, my darling!" Mary said, grabbing Sybil's hand.

"This will sting a bit," Isobel said kindly. "But the bleeding's stopped. Don't move just yet."

"Mary," Sybil mumbled.

"Darling, I'm here. Don't you scare me like that ever again!" Mary gasped.

"I'm so grateful that you came with me," Sybil sighed.

"Young lady, I'm afraid that your Papa will triple the number of chaperones for you once we reach London," Matthew smiled, coming to her side.

"Cousin Matthew," Sybil smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"You're at Crawley House. I was having dinner with my mother when you barged in and interrupted," Matthew smiled. "But I suppose we can forgive you so long as you get well as quickly as possible."

"Mmm, all right," Sybil mumbled, blinking several times. "I'm glad you're here and not Papa."

Matthew smiled back at her.

"We should take her home," Mary said, looking curiously at the scene before her.

"Are you strong enough to go?" Matthew asked.

"Of course," Sybil said vehemently, although her words were strong her movements were still sluggish as she raised herself up off the couch. She shook her head. "Will you take me?" she asked Matthew.

"Here," Matthew smiled, stepping forward. "Lean on me."

"Take my coat," Mary said, stepping between them and placing her coat around Sybil's shoulders. "You'll look more normal."

Matthew put his arm around Sybil and escorted her out of the parlour and towards the door, where an anxious Branson leaped up from his chair and ran out to open the door to the motor for them.

Mary watched them leave. She turned to Isobel and nodded.

"Thank you so much for this," she said.

"You can count on me," Isobel nodded.

"I know," Mary smiled, bowing her head in understanding. "I…I'll be by for tea tomorrow."

"Splendid. I look forward to it," Isobel said. The two of them shared a look of understanding before Mary turned and left after Matthew and Sybil. Isobel and Mary were never particularly expressive with each other. The only time they had ever hugged was when Mary and Matthew had announced their engagement and on the wedding day itself, but neither were the type to use gestures with anyone besides their husbands. All the same, Isobel was constantly concerned for Mary. She knew Matthew could distract himself with the task at hand. Mary had to endure hours each day with very little to do but be reminded of how far she had fallen.

Isobel walked out to the hall and watched as the motor disappeared in the direction of Downton Abbey. She smiled to herself, then instructed Molesley to lock up for the night.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"How dare you?! How dare you disobey me in this way!" Robert shouted.<p>

Mary winced slightly, standing off to the side with Edith as Sybil sat with Cora on the bed.

Cora opened her mouth to speak and Robert raised his hand to silence her.

"Are you so knowledgeable about the great world that my instructions are to be set as nothing?" he ranted. "You disappoint me, Sybil! You disappoint me greatly. You've seen all that has come from Mary refusing to listen to us, and you recklessly do this?!"

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry, Papa. Edith hasn't failed you yet," Mary shook her head.

"Don't think you're absolved of any blame in this!" Robert glared at her before turning back to Sybil.

"Papa, I'm sorry I disobeyed you, but I'm interested. I'm political. I want to be informed. I have opinions," Sybil said, leaning slightly against her mother.

"Of course you do," Robert threw his hands up in the air. "You know all about the revolution that is coming and you want to be on the cusp of it rather than left behind with your stodgy and ancient parents and their obsolete beliefs."

"Papa, that's not fair," Mary said.

"Of course, I blame Branson, and you," Robert frowned at Mary. "We had none of this – none of it – until the two of you set foot in our house! I suppose I should give thanks that the place hasn't burnt down over our heads!"

"Branson didn't know anything about it until we arrived there! Neither did Mary! She tried to get me to leave but I refused!" Sybil pleaded.

Robert's mouth opened in surprise.

"Exactly, Papa," Mary sneered. "I felt our time would best be served heading to a pub and seeing what nice men we could entertain."

"Mary!" Cora cried.

"I'm not being serious, Mama!" Mary rolled her eyes. "But Papa suspects as much. He thinks I'm leading Sybil down the road to Perdition."

"You were responsible for your sister this evening, Mary," Robert said slowly. "Are you saying that you're pleased about the way tonight played out?"

"No, of course not!" Mary said defensively.

"And how do you expect us to trust you with her again?" Robert demanded. "I've wondered since you arrived back here what your agenda was, and now I can see it, to dismantle this family piece by piece. You fill Sybil's mind with ideas, tell her she should defy us in the name of educating herself and becoming more worldly, and when your scheme results in her nearly cracking her head open, we're to accept that this was a sheer coincidence and no one is to blame?"

"You think that I wanted this to happen?" Mary shouted.

"If Sybil hadn't been hurt, you'd have succeeded in showing her the thrill of going against me, and who knows what's next?" Robert said firmly.

"You can't blame Mary for my mistakes. Blame me," Sybil said, rising to her feet.

"I do blame you!" Robert turned on her. "I blame you for standing by your sister when I ordered her to leave here! I blame you for writing to her while she was in Manchester despite my frowning upon it! And now I blame you for allowing her to corrupt you and turn you against us! Even now, with your head throbbing and your blood spilled, you think that Mary is above reproach and that I'm overreacting! I should have her sent away, to America this time, and I challenge any of you to say I am not within my rights to do so!"

"No!" Sybil shrieked. "I won't let you send her away again! This is her home and we're her family!"

"Robert, please," Cora implored him. "Can we do this in the morning? Sybil needs rest."

Sybil sat back down on the bed, still slightly unsteady. "If I find tomorrow that Branson or Mary are missing, I'll run away, Papa! I warn you!"

Robert looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Oh? And where would you go? Manchester?" Robert asked her.

"Well, I can't think now, but I will go, and you'll be sorry," Sybil replied.

"I should be sorry," Robert said sadly. "Very sorry indeed."

"All right, that's enough for tonight. Let's get Sybil to sleep," Cora said.

"I'll stay with her until she falls asleep," Edith sighed, approached the bed.

"You're taking the left side this time," Sybil said petulantly as she eased herself back on the bed.

"Of course, don't I always?" Edith asked, sitting down next to her sister.

"I'll ring for Anna," Cora smiled at her daughters.

Robert stormed from the room. Mary watched him go, a thoughtful expression on her face.

* * *

><p>"How is she?" Matthew asked as Robert came into the parlour and went straight to the bar to fix himself a drink.<p>

"She'll be perfectly fine," Robert grumbled. "In body, if not in mind."

Robert drained his glass in one swallow and poured himself another drink immediately.

"I'm glad that you were at Crawley House tonight," Robert continued. "At least someone reasonable was there. I don't blame your mother, of course. I'm grateful that she was able to treat Sybil so quickly. But Mary should have brought her here. I suspect she went to Crawley House to try and cover up what happened."

Matthew frowned slightly as Robert looked away from him. It would never become comfortable to stand by and allow insults to his wife to go unanswered, ruse or not.

"It was actually a wise decision, I think, in the end," Matthew said carefully. "It would have taken longer to rouse Clarkson and have him brought to the house."

"Mary…wise…" Robert snorted derisively. "Now I know that I no longer recognize this world we are living in."

"I hope you won't punish her, or Sybil, or even Branson for that matter. I agree with you that they should not have been there in the first place, but once they were, you know how difficult it is to extricate oneself from such crowds," Matthew said quietly.

"I do, which is why I forbid her from going in the first place," Robert nodded. "Such a simple request, and yet my daughters see fit to ignore it. I would send away Branson tonight if I didn't think it would give Mary the perfect excuse to rally the family against me. You should see what he reads. It's all Marx and Ruskin and John Stuart Mill, I ask you."

Matthew nodded. "But he's still just a chauffeur. He poses no threat, particularly now that Sybil realizes the danger she placed herself in for her politics."

Robert turned and looked at Matthew for a moment before nodding and taking a sip of his drink.

"Thank God for you, Matthew. Your counsel has been sage from the moment you arrived. I see now that keeping Mary here is far better than sending her away again, no matter how much I wish I could. Sybil idolizes her and it's too late to turn that around. And Cora probably cares for Sybil more than she does the others. Keeping Mary close is better than making a heroine of her. At least with her under our observation, I can keep everyone else in line."

"By the same token, we should probably hang on to Branson. You can let Sybil see the folly of his beliefs for herself, rather than make him seem like some all knowing leader of the uprising if you fire him," Matthew said.

"I suppose you're right," Robert said, finishing his second drink. "I'm sorry you had to put up with all of this tonight, but it's a harsh lesson for you to learn for yourself. When you're the Earl, you need to realize that even the most basic orders can sometimes be disregarded. Everyone always thinks they know better than you do."

Matthew looked at Robert and felt a pang of sympathy for him.

"Well, that's enough excitement for me. I'm going up. What about you?" Matthew asked.

"Later," Robert answered. "My blood is simmering too much to sleep now. Good night, Matthew."

"Good night, Robert."

* * *

><p>Matthew didn't wait in bed. He couldn't. After he dismissed Thomas for the evening, he sat in a chair by the fire and went over his draft bill to pass the time, making a few needless revisions and corrections that were hardly significant or necessary. He paced back and forth, thinking his footsteps could will time to move faster. He debated leaving his robe on or off, his shirt on or off, his shirt off but his robe on and so forth. When it was well past midnight and he finally heard the doorknob turn, he ran to open it.<p>

"Matthew," Mary sobbed, coming into his arms as he shut the door and hugged her fiercely.

"Darling," he said, kissing her head and cheek over and over. "Are you all right? You weren't hurt as well, were you?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine," she nodded against his shoulder. "I was so terrified. When Sybil fell, I thought…"

"Shh…" Matthew said soothingly, guiding her over to the bed. "She's all right. You were very brave, Mary. So very brave."

"All I could think about was what if I hadn't been there? She never mentioned any interest in politics in all the letters she wrote to me in Manchester. I realized tonight that Sybil grew up in these past two years and I wasn't here for any of it. Now she's about to have her debut and what if we hadn't come back? What if we were still living in Manchester and I had sworn off my family entirely as I wanted to? I would be missing out on everything," Mary whispered.

"Mary, we're here," Matthew said in reassurance. "We're here and we aren't going anywhere if I have anything to say about it."

"Darling," Mary sighed, turning to him and kissing him. "I'm so sorry to do this to you. I know it's not fair and I know it's unjust, but we have to make this work, Matthew, somehow. I don't care how long it takes or what we have to do, but I can't leave. I can't leave Sybil, or even Edith for that matter. I can't just live in ignorant bliss with you somewhere else, as happy as I would be to do that. My place is here, no matter what Papa says."

"Your place is here," Matthew nodded. "As my wife, and as the guiding light of your family, and one day as Countess of Grantham. I'll see it done, Mary."

She kissed him again. "I love you, Matthew. For bearing all of this, and standing by me. I think you're incredibly foolish to do so, but I love you for it."

"Are you sure you didn't take a knock to the head yourself?" Matthew smirked. "You're awfully effusive tonight."

"Shut up and enjoy it," Mary smiled ruefully, kissing him again.

"What did Papa say?" Mary asked as they lay down together. "Something horrid about me, I assume?"

"He was rather wistful actually, to be fair," Matthew frowned. "I think he was more sad than angry actually."

"He started off being furious when he scolded her in her bedroom, but I think you're right. Sybil was always his little girl. To see her growing up is a shock for him," Mary nodded.

"He's not going to take my private bill very well at all," Matthew sighed. "It will be a great disappointment to him."

"Well you can try and talk to him beforehand, but I don't see how you'll get anywhere," Mary sighed. "Unless you can come up with a better reason than you've been sleeping with his eldest daughter for almost three years now and you'd like to do so on a nightly basis."

Matthew grinned, turning towards her. "Well, who can say fairer than that?"

He kissed her firmly, pushing her on to her back.

"You must be careful not to break Sybil's heart," Mary whispered, looking up at him playfully. "You're her gallant knight in all this. I think she has a crush on you."

"Well, that's something no one could ever accuse you of," Matthew smiled, kissing her neck where it met her shoulder and pulling her robe away from her body.

"Certainly not," Mary grinned, closing her eyes. "I'm far _far _beyond a crush when it comes to you, Mr. Crawley."

She reached down his body and past his pyjamas, taking hold of his naked flesh and stroking him.

"Mary!" he groaned into her shoulder, his hand removing his clothes to give her full access.

"God, Matthew," she sighed, writhing against him. "Please, please."

He pulled the strap of her nightgown down and exposed her breast to his hungry mouth. As he kissed her sensitive skin, he pulled her nightgown to her waist, spreading her legs and pushing a finger into her core.

Mary whimpered as he moved faster. He reached up and kissed her hard, groaning into her mouth as she squeezed him harder in reply.

After several moments, he pressed firmly upon her and she came apart, yelping into his mouth and arching toward him as pleasure washed over her. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her breast, smiling against her skin as she took deep breaths and calmed herself.

Matthew groaned when she resumed her attentions on him. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her cheek, whispering her name.

"Mary, the…the drawer…" he gasped.

Mary groaned in frustration, quickly turning over and throwing open the drawer of his nightstand to retrieve the packet stored there.

"Hurry," she commanded.

"You do it," Matthew leered, reaching for her and kissing her neck once more.

Mary grinned, running her hand along his bare back and slapping his bottom lightly. She tore open the packet and stared at him wantonly as she unrolled the condom over him. The moment it was in place, he moved over her, pinning her arms over her head and pushing her legs apart with his knee.

"Mary," he hissed. "I want you so badly."

She cried out as he thrust into her. She moved her hips in time with his, urging him on with wicked words and her dark stare until he cried out her name in bliss.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, June 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Will that be all, sir?" Thomas asked, brushing Matthew's shoulders.<p>

"No, Thomas," Matthew said, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "I require your assistance on a delicate matter."

"Yes, sir?" Thomas asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.

"I do hate to be at a disadvantage, Thomas," Matthew said. "These Lords, friends and acquaintances of Lord Grantham. They've all known him for years and been part of Society for much longer. I feel as though they see me as a novice, a bit of a new boy, and that concerns me."

"I'm sure you'll be up to speed quickly, sir," Thomas nodded. "I understand there were raves about you back in Winter, sir."

"That may be so, but this is the Season, Thomas. The stakes are higher, and I don't want to disappoint Lord Grantham."

"Of course not, sir," Thomas agreed. "How may I help you."

"I want you to find out all that you can about the Lords who come to Sybil's Ball," Matthew said. "Lord Grantham will be judicious in what he discloses to me, out of loyalty to his friends and colleagues. I need to know more. I need to know their secrets. If I'm to sit in the House with them one day, then I must know who they are and what they believe and, most importantly, what may sway them."

Thomas blinked in surprise. "This sounds rather surreptitious, sir," he said carefully.

"It certainly is, Thomas," Matthew nodded, still looking at the mirror. "But I suspect that servants talk, and I also suspect that you are entirely privy to information that I could not obtain directly on my own. So, are you up for this mission?"

"Leave it to me, sir," Thomas smiled. "I'll get the intelligence that you seek."

"Good man," Matthew nodded, giving Thomas a brief smile. "The better prepared we are when dealing with these men, the better off we will be in the future."

"Yes, sir," Thomas said smugly. He bowed and left Matthew's dressing room.

Matthew looked back at his reflection and rolled his eyes.

"Will you walk into my parlour? Said the Spider to the Fly," he shook his head.

He turned away from the mirror and moved towards the door. Pausing at the threshold, he looked up at the ceiling.

"I won't let them change me, Papa," he whispered. "But do keep me in line, _please_."

* * *

><p>"Mr. Crawley," the old man said, nodding his head slightly. "Beatrice sung your praises in December. I'm pleased to meet you for myself finally."<p>

"Matthew, please, Lord Edwidge," Matthew smiled respectfully. "Lady Edwidge is too kind. I suspect that she was more in awe by the lovely kedgeree we had that evening. I was merely fortunate enough to be seated close by and benefitted from her happy mood."

Lord Edwidge laughed heartily. Matthew's stomach rebelled at his horribly patronising words.

"How do you find Parliament this session, Lord Edwidge?" Matthew asked lightly. "We had a by-election in Ripon recently. Thankfully the right side won."

"Indeed," Lord Edwidge nodded. "Oh, there's the usual bellyaching and grandstanding, Matthew. There's very little of consequence though. I find myself indifferent to most of it. By the time a bill is debated to death in the Lower House, there's very little reason for disagreement on our part."

"Well, arguing can sometimes be a waste of time, can't it, Lord Edwidge?" Matthew smiled.

"More than you know," Lord Edwidge chortled. "Oh there's always the squeaky wheels, Matthew. Even Lord Grantham has risen in outrage from time to time, but you'll find that most of the Lords who sit in the House aren't particularly bothered by the small measures. In the course of any session, there's only two or three true bills worth fighting over."

"It sounds fascinating," Matthew nodded. "I wouldn't mind seeing it all for myself."

"Whenever it pleases you, my boy. You can ring my office. They'll arrange for you to come through whenever you wish as my guest," Lord Edwidge nodded.

"Thank you," Matthew grinned. "I shall certainly take you up on your offer."

* * *

><p>"There's something about him isn't there?" Lady Ellen smiled, watching Matthew across the room. "He's just so…smooth. Not at all like those boring men during our debut. He's rather mysterious, in a very alluring way."<p>

Mary rolled her eyes and sipped her champagne. "Ellen, I doubt that Connor would appreciate your comments about my cousin."

"Oh, please, Mary," Ellen scoffed. "I care about Connor almost as much as you cared about Patrick."

"The difference being that you're actually married," Mary said coldly.

"But Matthew isn't, is he?" Ellen said saucily, sipping her drink.

Mary grit her teeth behind her pursed lips.

"I suppose it's just a daydream, anyway," Ellen said lightly. "I hear that Sarah has big plans for him."

"Then she's in for an even bigger disappointment," Mary snarled.

"Why is that?" Ellen laughed, looking at Mary curiously.

Mary swallowed slightly.

"From what I know of Cousin Matthew, dear Sarah isn't his type," Mary said cautiously.

"A woman willing to get on her knees for him isn't his type?" Ellen chuckled. "He must be a saint!"

"Hardly," Mary said. "All he needs is to have basic standards."

"Oh, Mary," Ellen laughed. "How I've missed you."

Mary smiled at Ellen conspiratorially and raised her glass to her.

"Speaking of Connor," Mary said. "How is his dear Papa? Is Lord Highwater still mourning the loss of his second wife?"

"Oh, he's mourning all right," Ellen rolled her eyes. "He's spending nights with his grandson's nanny moaning away."

Mary laughed. "I shouldn't pry, but I can't help it."

"Oh, dear Mary," Ellen grinned. "Call that servant of yours over to refresh our drinks and I shall tell you all about the gossip you missed in the past year. No one appreciates a good rumour like you do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, London, England, June 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"A rather unfortunate consequence of our investigations is that now I have a hard time looking at some of these men without bursting out laughing," Matthew sighed, going over his notepad.<p>

"It's an acquired skill," Mary smiled, laying on her stomach, the blanket pooled just above the curve of her bottom. "Saying one thing to a person while thinking something entirely different."

"Well why didn't you say so?" Matthew asked, smiling at her. "That I know how to do quite well."

"I hope the thoughts you have of me are not the same as you have of these old toffs," Mary smirked.

"I would hope that what we just did is clear proof of who exactly I am entirely focused upon," Matthew said, arching his eyebrows.

"Mmm," Mary sighed contentedly. "I must admit the bedpost is much sturdier than I expected."

Matthew laughed, blushing at the memory of her arms wrapped around the bedpost, her legs wrapped around him as he supported her weight in his arms.

"We seem to have a veritable dossier of information on a great number of Lords," Matthew said, putting the notepad on the nightstand. "And I expect Thomas will dig up even more following Sybil's Ball."

"It was quite clever to use him to our advantage," Mary smiled. "And he suspects nothing?"

"He thinks he's gathering leverage for me to use in my future political career," Matthew nodded. "Not entirely untrue, really."

"When will you mention Louis to him?" Mary asked.

"I'm not sure," Matthew frowned. "Not until I'm certain that the bill is ready for John to bring to Parliament. If we can turn Thomas to our side, we can use his testimony against Robert when he gets wind of what I'm doing."

"Papa won't believe him, or you," Mary huffed. "He'll probably think we paid him to recant his earlier story, or some other nonsense."

"Possibly,' Matthew nodded. "Still, I'd like to keep Thomas as a weapon for our use. We need as many irons in the fire as possible."

"I noticed Lady Kensington talking to you at the Shiring Ball last night," Mary said pointedly.

"She cornered me after I'd interrogated Lord Bridgewater," Matthew nodded. "Don't worry darling, I told her I was too busy with family matters to walk out with her."

"I'm not worried," Mary said easily. "Though she'll be at the Ball and various other events in the next month. She's unavoidable, that one, particularly when she has the bit between her teeth."

Matthew laughed, running his hand down her bare back, smirking at the curve of her breast pressed against the mattress.

"Have no fear, darling," Matthew said. "I know you'll be occupied with Sybil this week, but I'll be isolating myself so as not to be tempted by these wicked women."

"A wise decision," Mary smiled, looking over at him. "You're still quite popular from what I've heard. There's a veritable race on to see which lady can say they bedded you first."

Matthew gasped in shock. "No!" he shook his head.

"Women can be just as heathen as men, Matthew," Mary raised her eyebrows at him. "Once you're years removed from your debut, you're far more aware of the way the world works."

"Is that so?" Matthew smiled. "So, Lady Mary, are you pleased with yourself that you've seduced the heir to the Earl of Grantham? Are you revelling in having put one over on all of your peers?"

He leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, then her spine, trailing kisses down her back. His hand ghosted down, squeezing her bottom, then flinging the blanket off her body completely.

"I will admit that it is rather…thrilling…to know I've had a man that everyone wants and no one else will ever have," Mary grinned, her eyes closing as her husband continued to attend to her.

"No one, Mary," Matthew whispered, kissing the small of her back. "No one else but you shall ever have me. I shall love you until the last breath leaves my body."

"Mmm, Matthew," she grinned, raising her hips at his urging. "You're all mine for all eternity."


	22. Chapter 22

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, June 1914**_

* * *

><p>Matthew entered the ballroom and looked around at the austere decorations. There was nothing but the finest gold and silver on display; he could practically see his reflection in the empty shinning glittering punch bowl. Servants were circulating dusting and cleaning, attending to every last detail under Carson's watchful eye. Mrs. Hughes and Cousin Cora were huddled together going over how the guests would enter, how they would be announced and the order of the events of the evening. Matthew smiled at the display. He had been to numerous events in Manchester, but never a debutante ball. He found the effort that the family went to quite impressive, even though the very concept of Sybil's coming out was rather funny to him.<p>

He spied the young lady of the hour standing off to the side and he went over to her, nodding pleasantly. Sybil appeared to be nervous, her eyes looking around the room in wonder. Was this the same firebrand who was adamant about fighting for the rights of women and standing up to her Papa?

"We're going to quite the fuss for this party," Matthew said airily. "Whomever it is all for must be worth it."

Sybil smiled and looked down at the floor.

"I hope that I am not a disappointment to you, Cousin Matthew," she said softly.

"Never, Sybil," Matthew smiled. "I suppose I am just feeling rather put out that we're spending all this money on some ignorant cad who won't know the true prize he may be competing for this evening."

Sybil looked at him with wide eyes.

"Erm…well, you and Papa certainly will have final approval over any invitations that I receive," she struggled. "That is your right, of course. You'll be head of our family one day."

"Don't worry, Sybil, I won't shackle you…too much," Matthew smiled reassuringly. "Whomever you decide to dance with tonight, or walk out with later in the week, I'm sure I'll like him. That is, if he's good to you. If not, he'll have me to answer to. Remember that."

Sybil swallowed.

"Thank you, Cousin Matthew," she said.

Matthew smiled at her, then crossed the large room to join Robert.

"Ah, Matthew, there you are," Robert smiled as he approached. "Might I make a request of you?"

"Of course," Matthew nodded sincerely "I am at your disposal, Cousin."

He was always mindful to stay on Robert's good side, if he could. He still was a bit disturbed that he was plotting against him in private. He had a meeting with John Simon scheduled for later in the week to discuss his private member's bill. He chose not to think about the irony of smiling to Robert's face while he was working to tear apart his world behind his back.

"As the future head of the family, and this being your first proper Season, I think you should have the first dance with Sybil tonight. It's traditionally reserved for the guest of honour, and I can think of no one better to fill that role."

"I certainly can!" Matthew smiled. "Isn't the Prince of Wales or someone far more worthy of Sybil available?"

Robert laughed and patted Matthew on the shoulder. "The Prince is indisposed, sadly. But, you'll do. The first dance will be a French quadrille. Did you know that my great-aunt was the first person to dance with the Duke of Devonshire when the dance became fashionable?"

"Given that history," Matthew said. "I'll do my best to represent the family. I know tonight is about Sybil after all, so I wouldn't want to make her look foolish by being clumsy."

Robert's brow creased slightly as he stared at Matthew.

"Tonight is about showcasing our family to the rest of Society; it's not specifically about my youngest daughter. We are not about putting a young woman on display as though we are a shopkeeper. With Sybil now coming out, I'm grateful I won't have to go through this again. Cora did an exemplary job for both Mary and Edith's Balls, though the results may not show it."

Matthew nodded in understanding. Robert's pique seemed to always linger just below the surface, springing forward when one least expected it. Matthew found the idea of having a party for young gentlemen to come and look over Sybil to be quite ridiculous truly, but that did not change the fact that tonight was in fact about Sybil. Of course Society would talk about the party and either praise or condemn Cora for how it was viewed, but ultimately wasn't it more important that Sybil enjoyed herself?

He looked across the room to see Mary enter and go over to stand with Sybil and Edith. Her dress was sleek and immaculate. Even from across the room he could see she wore the earrings and necklace he had given her early in their marriage. These gestures from her always thrilled him, as though she were wearing the badges of his love for her out in the open for all to see.

As Cora announced that all was ready and the first guests would be arriving imminently, Matthew looked around the room once more. He imagined this same room years ago when Mary announced her arrival in Society. She would have been quite the prize, he was sure of it, ogled and obsessed over by men across London. He remembered her stories about Patrick's horrible behaviour, all the invitations she received and her embarrassed admission that she was rather preoccupied with all the attention paid to her that Summer. Matthew told her that the way she acted was in the past and did not matter to him. Standing now in Grantham House, seeing the opulence on display, he could understand why Mary had perhaps gotten carried away. How could she not? The party was worthy of the Queen herself.

Guests filed in and greeted Robert and Cora at the door. Mary and Edith kept Sybil at the other end of the room and away from guests. She would make her formal entrance later. Matthew mingled and spoke with numerous people, the ones he remembered from meeting them in December, and others that Mary had specifically instructed him to search out.

After a suitable amount of time for everyone to have their first drinks, Carson stepped forward and raised his baritone, drawing everyone's attention.

"Esteemed guests, Lords and Ladies, the Earl and Countess of Grantham present to you, on the occasion of her debut, Lady Sybil Crawley, to be escorted by Mr. Matthew Crawley, Viscount Downton presumptive," Carson announced.

All eyes turned to the door and Sybil entered, her hands clasped in front of her and her back straight. She looked straight ahead, a demure smile across her face. There were numerous smiled and appreciative nods from the guests as she reached the space cleared for a dance floor, and Matthew stepped forward and extended his hand, bowing his head to her respectfully.

They stepped into hold easily, Sybil staring up at him as he moved her through the first steps of the waltz as the small orchestra played in the background. Matthew kept his eyes on his cousin, a polite smile on his face.

"You look lovely, cousin," Matthew whispered, feeling her hand shake on his shoulder. "Don't think about everyone looking at you. Focus on me."

Sybil took a deep breath as they danced, calming herself and nodding to him.

"I don't think anyone in our family has eyes like yours, Cousin Matthew," she said, looking up at him. "They're quite blue, aren't they?"

"They are," Matthew nodded jovially. "When I was a child, people thought that I was adopted, as both of my parents no longer had blond hair by that time and their eyes were hardly blue either. I was repeatedly assured that I looked like my father when he was a boy."

"I feel as though I should do something for Cousin Isobel, to thank her for…well, her assistance last month. Perhaps I should visit her? I feel as though I haven't done my part to get to know her better. My conversations with her are all limited to whenever she comes to Downton Abbey for dinner," Sybil said.

"Careful, Sybil," Matthew laughed. "If you give mother an excuse, she'll set up daily appointments for you. You'll be spending more time with her than you do with Cousin Cora."

Sybil blushed and looked away. "It would be good practice for me," Sybil said lightly. "I must learn to be a part of my husband's household, which would mean getting along with my mother-in-law."

"Then spending time with mother would be advisable," Matthew chuckled. "If you can get keep up with her, then your future mother-in-law will be child's play."

Sybil twirled about and finally looked back up at Matthew. "My thoughts, exactly, Cousin Matthew."

* * *

><p>"There, better, Milady?" Anna asked, hanging Sybil's stockings over her arm and picking up her shoes from the floor.<p>

"God, that's heavenly, Anna," Sybil sighed, sitting back on her chair and playing with a long strand of her hair. "By the end of the night, I could barely breathe through my corset."

"Well, Mr. Carson says you were breathtaking," Anna nodded. "So all of it was worth it."

"Carson used the word 'breathtaking'?" Edith asked. "I can't imagine it."

"Not because you weren't breathtaking, darling, because you certainly were," Mary explained, frowning at Edith. "It's just strange thinking of Carson being so effusive."

"At least to anyone besides Mary, anyway," Edith shrugged.

Sybil nodded. She thanked Anna and waited for the maid to leave her bedroom before speaking further.

"I thought it all went quite well," Sybil continued. "I wasn't nearly as bored as I expected I would be."

"Do you have any ideas on who may send you an invitation?" Edith asked. "You were quite popular, obviously."

"Mama's made arrangements with three other families already," Mary said. "I can't recall the names or the faces, but hopefully you can."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Sybil said quietly, rising from her vanity and going over to the full length mirror.

Edith and Mary exchanged confused glances.

"What do you think of Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked suddenly turning to her sisters.

"What about him?" Mary asked, shaking her head.

"I thought we danced quite well together," Sybil mumbled, looking down at her hands.

"Yes, you did," Edith agreed, still confused. "What does his ability to dance have anything to do with anything?"

"Well, I thought that perhaps it may be a…solution…to the questions about our future," Sybil said quietly.

"A solution?" Edith repeated. "In what way?"

Mary's eyes almost popped out of her head. "Sybil, what are you thinking?" Mary asked carefully.

"Nothing, really," Sybil shook her head. "It's just that Cousin Matthew must marry someone eventually, and I don't dislike him as much as you do."

"Perhaps you don't dislike him at all," Edith laughed.

"Perhaps…" Sybil whispered.

Mary felt like retching.

"You can't be serious," she sputtered. "You and Cousin Matthew? Why, that's impossible!"

"I know, I know," Sybil sighed. "He'll likely want someone far more dazzling, but in the past few weeks I've found conversation with Cousin Matthew to be quite pleasant. And he doesn't have any prejudices or archaic attitudes like Papa does. If I were to marry him, then I would be Countess of Grantham and that would mean all of us would have a place to live, and a future, at Downton, at our home."

"You marrying Cousin Matthew wouldn't stop Mama from trying to ship Mary and I off, you know," Edith said.

"Exactly," Mary agreed rather quickly. "Darling, you're very sweet, but you don't need to waste your life on Cousin Matthew for our sake, truly."

"Well, I wouldn't be wasting my life if I were to marry him," Sybil said innocently. "I would expect that being Cousin Matthew's wife would be rather…fun."

This time Mary did cough, her stomach convulsing.

"You would be the envy of Society, surely," Edith nodded. "Countess of Grantham and with a handsome husband. What more could anyone ask for?"

"Handsome?" Mary exclaimed, glaring at her sister.

"Would you prefer if I said gorgeous?" Edith retorted.

"He is quite…gorgeous," Sybil smiled. "I had no idea that he was so…fit."

"Both of you stop!" Mary snarled. "Neither of you are marrying Cousin Matthew! The very idea is mad!"

"It isn't particularly romantic, no," Edith nodded. "But how can we trust that whoever Cousin Matthew eventually does marry will be fair with all of us, and even with Mama? We can't rely on his charity, can we?"

"No, and we shouldn't count on his kindness, either," Mary said. "Sybil, darling, focus on the other men that you danced with tonight, the truly eligible ones. Cousin Matthew isn't for you. Papa plucked him out of Manchester and foisted wealth and a lavish lifestyle upon him. He's probably not looking for a wife anytime soon, when he can just enjoy the attention he's been getting."

"Mary's right," Edith nodded. "He's probably one of those men who expects his wife to perform for him, and do all manner of scandalous things."

"Edith!" Mary scolded her, then blinked as Edith looked at her strangely. "Well, I don't think we should go so far as to cast aspersions on Cousin Matthew's character based entirely on speculation."

"But he has had many women, surely, hasn't he?" Sybil said. "Just think of all the ladies that have swooned over him since Christmas. Anyway, if I were to marry him, it would be my duty to obey him to a certain point, and he cannot expect that I would be…knowledgeable in that…area. Perhaps he would enjoy…teaching me?"

Sybil blushed profusely.

Mary almost fainted.

"Don't worry about that," Edith sighed wistfully. "If Papa and Mama thought that you were a good match for Cousin Matthew, they'd have flung you at him. Though, to be fair, you just had your debut tonight, so perhaps they were just waiting before putting some serious effort into the match."

"I'm going to bed," Mary announced. "Sybil, you were brilliant tonight, truly," Mary called over her shoulder, willing herself to get out of that room as her hands shook.

* * *

><p>"Matthew," she whispered.<p>

Matthew blinked several times and looked over at the other side of his bed.

"Darling," he smiled sleepily. "I didn't think that you would…Argh!"

His eyes bulged and his head and chest shot up as he felt Mary's hand between his legs and beneath his pyjama pants.

"Mary! That hurts!" he cried.

"What did you say to Sybil during your dance?" Mary demanded, squeezing him harder. "Answer me!"

"What?" Matthew choked out, fully awake now. "I can't remember. It was just idle chat."

"Idle chat?" Mary growled. "You seduced her, you vile philanderer!"

"What are you talking about? Aaah!" he groaned, his hands balling into fists. "I would never seduce Sybil! She's your baby sister for God's sake!"

"So you would seduce someone who wasn't related to me then?" Mary retorted.

"No! No, that not what I meant at all!" Matthew moaned.

"You filled Sybil's head with honeyed words and knowing glances! I know how you operate, Matthew! You played on her innocence and reeled her in!"

"Reeled her in to do what? Argh! Mary!" Matthew cringed.

"Why don't you tell me?" Mary hissed. "How idle and innocent was your conversation if my sister is now filled with ideas of marrying you and being your eager student in your marital bed?"

"What? That's nonsense! Aaah!" Matthew grunted. "Mary, I already christened my marital bed with you, if you can so easily forget! I would never even think about Sybil in that fashion!"

"Is that so?" Mary said coldly. "That's exactly what you did to me! Charmed me into your bed, then taught me all manner of…acts…to do to you for your pleasure!"

"You're my wife! We were married before we ever shared a bed together!" Matthew said quickly, glaring at her. "Everything that we've done has been entirely consensual and some of those lessons were meant to help me learn what gives you pleasure as well! What does any of that have to do with Sybil? Argh! Stop! Stop!"

Matthew grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand away from him, groaning out loud from the pain. He sat up in bed and turned towards her, meeting her furious stare with his own.

"You're being ridiculous!" Matthew said, holding up his hands in front of him. "I love you! I'm devoted entirely to you! I would die for you, Mary, you know that! Dancing with your sister at her debut ball is a duty that I must follow! It was only that, nothing more!"

Mary scoffed, then closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

"I know that, Matthew," she shook her head. "It's just that Sybil was bursting tonight after we retired, and it was all about you. None of the other men she met tonight made anywhere near as strong an impression."

"I get along with Sybil. She's a sweet girl," Matthew said in exasperation. "But I only danced with her once. Surely that can't be enough time for her to become entranced with me?"

"Why not? It took me less time," Mary said pointedly, smirking at him.

"And I still cannot fathom any explanation for that, either," Matthew smirked back.

"Darling," Mary sighed, coming into his arms. "I suppose that being back in London for a true Season is proving harder to deal with than I expected."

"It's hardly a bed of roses for me, either, Mary," Matthew said, massaging her back through her thin nightgown. "All I kept thinking about tonight was wishing I'd been here for your Ball, to have had the chance to dance with you on your debut."

Mary pulled back and smiled at him.

"Why, Matthew," she said playfully. "Are you saying you would have dared to steal me out from under Patrick's vile grasp?"

"I would have done anything, Mary," Matthew said firmly, leaning forward and kissing her. "If you would have accepted me, I would have moved the Earth for you."

"Darling, what am I always telling you? I was a spoiled princess back then. One conversation with me and you would have thought I deserved a lifetime of misery with Patrick. You'd have wished me good riddance. You would have been mad to love who I was back then," Mary said, kissing him softly.

"I accept that," Matthew smiled, shaking his head and kissing her again. "For love is a madness most discreet."

Mary laughed, kissing him once more. "Romeo and Juliet. How foolish I was to think that studying Shakespeare would never prove useful, and that his words would never move me."

Matthew smiled and pulled her down, laying back and holding her against his chest.

"Are you still in pain, Matthew?" she asked.

"Not as much, no," Matthew winced. "Though I would appreciate it if in the future you were not so…angry…when you go to touch me."

"Understood," Mary smirked, kissing his neck. She then kissed his bare chest and licked his stomach.

"Mary?" Matthew gasped, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Perhaps I can make you feel better, darling, by putting some of your lessons to use," she said, removing his pyjamas swiftly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon, London, England, June 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I think it's absolutely splendid you brought these," Sybil said as she looked through the binoculars that Matthew had offered to her.<p>

"Don't stare darling," Cora scolded. "Those are really only for a gentleman to use."

"And I must say they aren't necessary," Robert said. "I know you've never been to Wimbledon, Matthew, and therefore you didn't understand the prominence of our seats. But, its best you put those away immediately before the match starts."

Edith gasped as she looked straight ahead, her words only a whisper.

"I didn't know the Royal Family would be in attendance."

"Oh, really, Edith," Mary said. "It's called the Royal Box for a reason, you know? But don't worry, the Prince of Wales isn't looking towards you, so there's no need to be so concerned."

The blue cloudless sky was brilliant over head, the sun bathing the grass court in light and warmth. Matthew recognized numerous faces in the stands around them. As the last major event of the Season, it seemed that most of Society was determined to see and be seen.

"Sybil," Cora interjected again quietly, chiding her daughter.

Reluctantly Sybil lowered the binoculars and handed them back to Matthew. He held his father's binoculars in hands, his face feeling flush with embarrassment at having brought them; slowly he set them on the floor under his seat.

"I hope the players enter soon," Cora said lightly. "Sitting out here under the sun is a bother with no sport to watch."

"Don't worry, Mama," Mary said with a bored tone. "You won't need to ignore all the people staring at me derisively once the match begins."

Cora frowned at Mary. Robert sighed.

"You're welcome to wait for us in the concourse, away from prying eyes, Mary," Robert said, not even looking in her direction.

Mary's lip curled at the dismissal. She narrowed her eyes, then rose from her seat.

"An excellent idea, Papa," she said with false enthusiasm. "I find the sun rather overbearing, and I'm having difficulty seeing the court with your head in the way."

Robert frowned and turned around, just in time to see Mary walking up the stairs of the aisle towards the exit.

"Perhaps I'll go and wait with her," Sybil said.

"No, you stay here," Matthew said. "Just leave Mary be. To cater to her need for attention will only encourage her to act even more petulantly."

Sybil and Edith looked down at the ground, silenced by Matthew's rebuke. Robert smiled and nodded to his heir, then resumed watching for the players to arrive.

"I actually am going to spend the first set in Lord Eldwidge's box," Matthew said, rising from his seat. "Better for Society to see how our family is thought of so highly by others, and allow all the focus here to be on Sybil and Edith, where it belongs."

Cora smiled at Matthew's foresight.

"Very well. Go on, Matthew," Robert nodded. "You can manage to find your way back later, I assume? We're going straight to the station from here. If you require me for anything, call. Otherwise, we'll see you back at Downton in a week's time."

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "Thank you, Robert.

He said his goodbyes to the rest of the family and left the grandstand.

He found Mary easily. She was standing at the rail looking out over the grounds. The crowds left her alone, their attention towards the court on the opposite side.

"You aren't really bothered by the glances and whispers, are you?" Matthew asked, coming to her side.

"No," Mary shook her head. "Though I could do without them. I rather enjoy watching tennis, actually. But Papa has seen fit to ruin the day for me before it even begins."

"Well, perhaps I can interest you in sharing a Wimbledon delicacy with me?" Matthew said quietly.

Mary grinned, looking away from him. "How did I know that you would suggest that?"

"I'm surprised that you don't have a plate at the ready for me," Matthew teased.

They went over to the nearest food stall and ordered strawberries and cream. Matthew took the dish over to a small table in a secluded corner, the area emptying quickly as polite applause greeted the players as they arrived on court.

"I'll be glad when they leave the city," Mary sighed. "Though Aunt Rosamund is hardly pleasant company, she's preferable to Papa."

"I must admit I thought he'd at least be civil to you by now. It's been months," Matthew said, dipping a strawberry and eating it.

"Don't think that just because he adores you, he'll be as nice to the rest of us, Matthew," Mary frowned. "He has his son now, and he's elated by it. It only shows him what a disappointment the three of us have been."

"I wish there was something I could do," Matthew muttered. "When I talk to him about some Estate matter, or learn about the way things work, he's so bright and happy. It makes me wonder if he wouldn't just be pleased to know that we were married."

Mary frowned at him.

"Matthew," she said slowly. "He's not your father. He never could come close. Never. And if you think that you could ever take him into your confidence, or that he wouldn't be furious if he knew the truth, you're wrong. You may think that logically he would have to accept me as your wife, but you're assuming that you're dealing with a rational man. You aren't. His entire life has been devoted to protecting the entail and the way our family has carried on for generations. He won't step aside for you, Matthew. He'd rather die first."

Matthew stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Painswick House, Eaton Square, London, England, July 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Thank you for letting me stay on with you," Mary said to her aunt as they shared afternoon tea together. "I was not ready to return to Downton just yet. I'm afraid I've grown quite fond of the sound of my heels on the pavement as I walk the London streets."<p>

"Think nothing of it my dear," Rosmuand said calmly, "It is good to have you all to myself. The Season seems to be growing busier and busier by the year. Of course, you know that. Once you've reached your fourth, you're more of a survivor than a debutante."

Mary nodded as she stirred milk into her tea.

"On the subject of surviving, I'm anxious to hear about your plans for the future. Now that the interloper is firmly ensconced among us, we'll have to get used to him, and know where we stand with him moving forward. I expect he'll want us to fend for ourselves. His sort of people are industrious to a fault."

Mary was placid on the outside, but bristled on the inside. She was used to being ridiculed and scorned since she'd returned from Manchester. But she was not used to hearing criticism of Matthew. Society had adored him since last year. To know the sole reason he was even here was because of her, and have to endure his name being stomped on tried her patience..

"I know that his presence alone must be a great insult and burden to you," Rosamund continued. "Cousin Matthew is certainly nothing like Patrick. Despite Patrick's long list of faults, he was at least raised as one of us. The warts of his youth would have disappeared, especially with you at his side, my dear."

Mary stared into her tea, thankful that she could be excused for her silence at the mention of Patrick's name. She did not care for the direction of this conversation already.

"Any hint on what Cousin Matthew will decide for you once he inherits?" Rosamund asked with curiosity.

"That's many years away, yet, surely," Mary said, sipping her tea. "Who knows, I may grow bored of Downton long before then and leave of my own choice."

"Oh, I doubt that very much," Rosamund said crisply. "You've returned from the wilderness. You won't be so quick to leave the civilized world so soon. So long as you can keep your Papa at bay, it will give you time to understand Cousin Matthew and what direction he is leading us in."

"Well, Papa is teaching him about the Estate and the people who rely upon us," Mary said. "I doubt he's put much mind to the future. I agree with Granny that it is rather maddening how Cousin Matthew does not seem preoccupied with finding a wife or going in a different direction from Papa."

"This is one point where Mama and I agree about Cousin Matthew. He is not being entirely forthright with us. No man when given keys to an entire kingdom and the women of society clamour for his regard would be so stoic and unmoved. He surely has his eye on someone as his future Countess, and his refusal to disclose this to us is a sign that he has no thought to how his marriage will affect all of us," Rosamund sighed.

"Perhaps," Mary said carefully. "Though I may argue with Cousin Matthew, he does not anger me the way that Papa does. I still have some hope that Cousin Matthew will be fair to all of us when the time comes. I can't say the same for Papa."

"Robert tries too much to be like Papa. He never will be," Rosamund nodded thoughtfully. "I prefer him to Cousin Matthew. Robert is predictable. I know precisely how he will react to a given situation. Cousin Matthew is unknown to us, for now."

"But Cousin Matthew at least has feelings. Papa does not," Mary grumbled.

Rosamund sighed. "Mary, I know that things are broken between you and Robert, perhaps irrevocably. But you should know, when you left, the following Season your parents had to endure all manner of gossip and snickering about you. It was quite dreadful, really. Everywhere they went, it was Mary did this, Mary did that, it was horrible for them."

Mary frowned. "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience that was caused to them after they banished me from Downton," she said icily.

Rosamund nodded. "That's how I would feel as well. But there's no use in dwelling on the past. You need to determine what your prospects are and moved forward."

"I'm damaged goods, Aunt Rosamund," Mary sighed. "My prospects are the furthest thing from my mind."

"Well they shouldn't be," Rosamund said. "It's all the more important that you are settled as soon as possible now. London may be closed to you, but it isn't the only place where eligible men reside."

Mary sipped her tea. This conversation officially confirmed that this had been the worst Season she'd ever endured.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, London, England, July 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary glanced about the suite, checking to make sure each detail was perfect. The presents she bought for Matthew were nestled one on top of the other on the coffee table. The first present was a poetry anthology and on top of that was a silk tie with a new tie pin and a matching set of cliff links. He enjoyed dressing her up, so she decided it was her turn to take secret pleasure in seeing him wear something she bought for him.<p>

A bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice, next to several covered serving trays that she'd ordered from room service. She went around smelling the flowers placed on the dresser and mantle and next to the chairs. Finally reaching the front door, she looked back at the sitting room and smiled. It looked exactly as she wanted.

She looked in the mirror and confirmed that the tulip booms that she'd placed in her hair were still holding firm. She'd managed to add the extra touch without disturbing her coiffure, which was no small task without Anna to assist her. It was a necessary challenge for her to conquer given that Mary most certainly did not want her lady's maid to see what ensemble she'd picked out for this afternoon.

A light knock drew her attention, and she went over to the door, swallowing nervously.

"Who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Your husband," came the reply.

"Husband?" Mary smirked. "I don't have a husband. What's your name?"

"Matthew Crawley," he said in frustration. "Mary, please open the door."

She smiled and untied the sash of her robe. She opened the door a small way, and he slipped inside.

"I hardly think any of that is necess…" Matthew scoffed before his mouth fell open to see what she was wearing.

"Happy birthday, husband," Mary said provocatively, arching her eyebrow at him.

He leered at her lingerie and advanced towards her. She laughed, backing up and holding her hands up.

"Matthew," she warned. "We're here to eat."

"Yes, we are. I'm absolutely starving," he growled, staring at her lace covered breasts.

"Not yet!" she teased, secretly delighted at how ravenous he was at the mere sight of her. "Sit down!"

Matthew sighed. He walked over to the closet and removed his suit jacket, vest and shoes, stowing them neatly before he joined her in the middle of the room.

"Are we using those chairs?" he asked, looking around the room in confusion.

"No," Mary smiled. "Sit."

Matthew looked down at the rug below them. "Right here?"

Mary nodded.

"This is…peculiar," he said, sitting down on the floor.

"We always celebrate your birthday with a picnic," Mary announced, going over and retrieving the champagne bottle and two flutes. "And since being seen together outdoors is far too dangerous, I decided to bring the picnic to you here."

"Thank you, darling," Matthew said genuinely, taking the champagne bottle and glasses from her. "Truthfully, I wouldn't want you to wear that outfit outside. Even in summer, you might catch your death."

Mary rolled her eyes. She gracefully sat down, folding her legs beneath her. Matthew reached over and retrieved the serving trays and placed them all around them. He uncovered sandwiches, a Niçoise salad, and numerous canapés.

"Not exactly the feast I am craving at the moment," he said daringly, winking at Mary. "But everything looks absolutely delicious."

"Let me," she smiled, taking his arm and guiding him towards her. His eyes widened in surprise as she placed his head in her lap and took up a devilled egg and fed it to him. She laughed as he deliberately seized her wrist and licked her fingers.

After feeding him several more morsels, she urged him to sit up. Matthew opened the champagne bottle with a flourish and filled the two crystal flutes.

"To my husband, Matthew Crawley on the lovely occasion of his birthday," Mary grinned, raising her glass. "With great hopes that next year's celebration will be in open so that all the world shall know that I've married the most wonderful man."

"Perhaps we should not have the _entire_ celebration in public, darling," Matthew smirked, raising his own glass and taking a long sip.

They ate the meal, alternating between feeding each other, talking about a variety of subjects. They joked about some of the strange people they'd met during the Season, bemoaned the boring dinners and terrible food they'd encountered, and said a quiet prayer for Dr. Crawley, for his birthday had just passed as well.

"Matthew, you're staring," Mary smiled, drinking another flute of champagne.

"You should be pleased," he said. "That outfit was surely made for holding my attention."

"I did buy it specifically for you to enjoy," Mary blushed.

Matthew swallowed, his shirt collar growing quite tight and uncomfortable. In fact, most of his clothing felt rather constricting by the second.

"You look like a forest nymph or a fairy, sent here to bewitch me and remain in your thrall," Matthew whispered, leaning towards her. He reached out and touched the flowers in her hair. "You are gorgeous, Mary," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss. "And brilliant, and strong, and so wonderful, my darling."

"This day is supposed to be about you, not me," Mary sighed, closing her eyes and caressing his face as he kissed her neck.

"Does that mean that I'm allowed to ask things of you?" he breathed, moving the strap of her camisole off her shoulder and kissing her there.  
>"Yes, Matthew," she moaned. "Your wish is my command."<p>

He picked her up and got up off the floor, moving swiftly to the bedroom. He smiled at the candles and flower petals arranged around the bed, and promptly placed her on the centre of the mattress and followed in beside her.

"I've been dreaming about this day for months," he smiled, kissing her lips, then her throat, then baring her breast and caressing it with his tongue. "I don't think I've ever looked more forward to my birthday."

"Nothing and no one was going to stop me from being with you today," Mary smiled with satisfaction. She pushed his chest lightly and eased him on to his back. Her fingers deftly undid his shirt buttons, and she kissed his skin as she revealed more of him.

"Now," she said thickly, her eyes dark. "What is your first command, darling?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I don't understand," Robert said, shaking his head at the chart Matthew had drawn for him. "It all seems rather complicated, when the current system works so well."<p>

"We're lucky in that," Matthew said, stopping himself from scoffing. "However we open ourselves up to rather severe tax consequences as a result of the recent laws passed by the government."

"Of course," Robert frowned. "I voted against every one of those bills and they all still passed. They threatened us with some secret pact with the King, of all things! Some people will do absolutely anything to change our way of life."

"Yes, well," Matthew continued. "What I am proposing does not actually change anything around here, at least not materially, but switching our holdings over to a Crawley Family Trust allows us to reorganize and avoids our being taxed all at once at exorbitant rates."

"That I understand, and I can see the merit in it," Robert said slowly. "But what of these boxes here for Cora and the girls?"

"They would be beneficiaries of the trust, in the same way they are beneficiaries of the Estate to a degree now," Matthew said. "And as joint trustees, they would have a say in the decisions we make."

"A say? You mean a vote? Out of the question! It was never intended for them to have a vote at all!" Robert cried.

"It wouldn't be an equal vote," Matthew said. "Collectively their votes would still be less than the Earl's vote or the heir's vote, so they could never overrule anything. It's necessary to show that there is some distinction between the Trust and the current way of doing things to ensure we qualify under the law."

"And what about the way you've set out these principles here?" Robert asked.

"A Trust exists at law if it has a clear purpose, among other things. I think that if the Estate funds are to designed to be used to maintain Downton for future generations, then we should clearly set that out. There needs to be allowances for living expenses and so forth, but the bulk of the assets should be saved or invested to benefit the Estate. That way, one person cannot spend the money recklessly," Matthew said.

"But aren't we already protected by the clause in the entail that requires that we work together?" Robert asked.

"In part, yes," Matthew said. "But this would clarify matters further, and place the responsibility on individuals to explain what they are spending the Estate's money on."

"I'll need to think about this, go over it with Murray and others," Robert sighed, placing the chart down on his desk. "I am pleased that you thought of it, though. Your initiative is impressive, Matthew."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded.

"Excuse me, my Lord," Carson called from the door. "There's a telephone call for you."

"I'd better go see to that," Robert said. "Go on outside. I'll be out shortly, I expect."

Matthew nodded and walked out the doors and across the drive towards the far side of the house. He could hear laughter and conversation and the soft sounds of a string quartet. He put on his hat and smiled as he wandered through the Garden Party, Cousin Cora's crowning event to the Season.

"Ah, Cousin Matthew," Mary smiled, waving at him.

"Cousin Mary," Matthew smiled, coming to her side. "You're being rather friendly," he whispered.

"And why shouldn't I be?" Mary smirked. "It's a lovely day, Mama is in a wonderful mood and there's nothing suspicious about us talking to each other."

"I don't know," Matthew smiled. "Cousin Violet is sure to be watching us, as well as your Aunt Rosamund."

"They're talking to Isobel," Mary nodded. "Whatever comments they make will be revealed to us later, so we have nothing to fear."

"If you're so sure, then why not give your husband a proper kiss?" Matthew teased.

"Don't make me blush," Mary smiled.

"Where are your sisters?" Matthew asked, looking about.

"Edith is with Sir Anthony," Mary said dismissively. "Probably talking about the latest farm machinery that he has his eye on. Sybil is with Mama. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the guests have been invited to stay over, particularly if they have eligible sons."

"So that Sybil can have her pick of the lot," Matthew laughed.

"Something like that. How was your talk with Papa?" Mary asked, beginning to walk over to their favourite tree on the grounds.

"Not bad. He didn't reject the idea out of hand, and he understands enough of it to be intrigued and not enough of it to guess as to the possible consequences. The next hurdle will be overcoming Murray," Matthew said.

"Well, one step at a time, darling," Mary smiled. "The look on Papa's face at our first trustees' meeting would be worth the effort in itself."

"I'm not holding out hope," Matthew nodded. "John Simon is still our best bet. I'll speak to him in a few weeks when we're in London. So long as he puts my bill on the list for September, we'll have our shot."

"So, you could be spending the night in my bed by October," Mary arched her eyebrow at him.

"Not that fast, sadly," Matthew chuckled. "Anna won't have to avert her eyes so quickly. The votes will take time, but I think there's enough between the Lords who generally don't vote or don't care and the ones who are essentially in agreement with me to at least give us a chance."

They wandered back to the tents and stopped, both of them watching Robert come striding towards the party from the house.

"He won't realize what is going on until it's too late," Mary smiled.

"It's hardly a foregone conclusion, darling," Matthew warned. "The only sure thing is he'll be furious with me when the bill is presented."

"I don't care," Mary said, turning to Matthew. "I'm with you, Matthew. Win or lose."

"God, I wish I could kiss you," Matthew whispered. "Because I need to, very much."

"Tonight, darling," Mary said quietly, turning away and looking back at her Papa. "I'll come to you. And I would recommend building up your stamina this afternoon, because I intend to make love to you so long as we have energy to do so."

"Well," Matthew smiled, looking at Robert. "Who can say fairer than that?"

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Ladies and Gentlemen, please!" Robert called, raising his hands. "May I have your attention please?"

"What is he going to drone on about now?" Mary huffed.

Robert looked around grimly before speaking.

"I regret to inform you that we are at War with Germany."


	23. Chapter 23

_**Office of the Attorney-General, Palace of Westminster, London, England, August 1914**_

* * *

><p>"Ah, Matthew," Viscount Simon smiled, shaking his hand and ushering him into the office. "I feared you'd gotten lost."<p>

"I apologize for being late. The train was delayed leaving York. Thank you for seeing me," Matthew nodded, taking a seat. "I expect that you must be quite occupied."

"If only you knew the half of it," John shook his head, glancing at the piles of papers, binders and notebooks scattered across his desk. "Emergency powers, calling Parliament back early, arranging for supplies and transportation, mobilizing the reserves. It's certainly the largest scale operation that I've ever witnessed."

"I must say I still can't believe it," Matthew said. "The world seems changed from what it was even a few weeks ago."

"It is, Matthew," John said quietly. "Indeed, it is."

The Attorney-General opened a drawer and took out a familiar book.

"Now, as you can imagine, the timing of your bill has been affected. All urgent business is taking precedence, many of the proposed acts that have been in the works for months now have been cast aside," John said, opening Matthew's draft.

"Yes, I expected that would be so," Matthew said. "The last thing that I want is for it to be lost while Parliament considers far more important matters to debate. I'd rather wait for another session if necessary."

"You'll need to be patient for a while longer, I expect. The other option would be to bring it forward as part of a larger proposal, thereby making it of more importance, or to attempt to hide it as part of another bill. Both of those avenues present entirely new sets of problems," John said.

"No," Matthew shook his head. "I have enough difficulty making a plausible argument for setting aside this entail, let alone attacking the very concept itself. Perhaps I can sway enough votes based on indifference and the fact that what I am proposing will only affect Lord Grantham and no one else, but if I were to try and change property laws in their entirety, I'd be strung up."

Viscount Simon laughed.

"Have you considered other options outside of a private bill? An entail is meant to deal with land. It's a mechanism for passing property from one generation to the next. The money in the Estate is a different matter altogether. You could leave the entail the way that it is and look to change the way that the money of the Estate is managed and spent, if that were your goal," John proposed.

"It's more involved than that, sadly," Matthew said. "I won't bore you with the details, but most of the money is tied to the Estate, which is in turn tied to the Earldom. There are possible ways to separate them, if I can get Robert to agree, but I think that if I can remove the entail, the rest will fall off. I'm trying to keep all options open for now, including seeking help from Parliament."

"And you're still confident that Lord Grantham will keep you in his Will even if you are successful?" John asked.

"He doesn't want to be known as the Earl who left his heir penniless and without a home. Besides, he doesn't have anyone else that he trusts to pass the land to and be confident it will survive. As strange as it sounds, I believe he trusts me more than he does anyone else in the rest of the family. He'll be angry with me, surely, but he won't do anything drastic out of spite. It's more important to him to know he followed the guidelines of his predecessors, entail or not," Matthew said. "I'm not against the idea of the Estate going from one Earl to the next. It's being forced to do so that I have a quarrel with."

"You do realize, Matthew, how precarious a position you are placing yourself in?" John said gravely. "If you do not succeed in this, for as ridiculous a reason as Parliament simply doesn't feel like agreeing with you on the day that this comes up for a vote, you'll be known, truthfully or not, as the man who tried to break an entail that Parliament deemed unbreakable. You'll be seen as a horrible lawyer, an even worse politician, and a fool on top of that."

"It's far from a perfect solution, and I don't mean to pretend that it is," Matthew nodded. "Some days I think I'm completely wrong and am pursuing a course of action that is patently impossible. I have nightmares about being the laughingstock of the House and all of London Society. I think about some of my former colleagues back in Manchester reading about my colossal failure and laughing about how I should have realized it was all doomed from the start. There are a myriad of reasons to not attempt what I am trying to do, not the least of which is I could be wrong about the whole thing."

"However?" John smirked.

"However I'm not arguing before a Court, and this isn't an academic exercise," Matthew said. "The correctness of my position is frankly irrelevant. What one considers illegal one moment is perfectly legal the next based on what Parliament orders or a Judge may decide. The law evolves. If it didn't, we'd still be following Hammurabi today. The same Lords who would try and tell me that what I'm attempting is futile likely voted against the People's Budget as well. And that's the key in the end. All that matters is whether I can convince enough Lords to vote my way, or more importantly to not vote against the bill. One thing that I have learned in my brief time here is that politics isn't necessarily about being correct."

"No, no it isn't," John smiled.

"Every mountain is unclimbable until someone climbs it," Matthew said.

John smirked. "Still, you do risk a great deal, Matthew."

"If this doesn't work, I'll have lost far more than my reputation," Matthew said. "And frankly, anyone who thinks I'm wrong or a bad lawyer or stupidly naïve for trying to change an archaic and unjust instrument can go sod off."

John laughed. "Well, you may not be a sound policy maker just yet, but I'm pleased to see that the part of your character that is doggedly stubborn still carries on. Very well. Leave it with me. Continue to manage your relationships with those in the House and when the moment comes where Parliament is more open to considering non-War related matters, I'll ring you and you can take your shot."

"Thank you," Matthew said, rising and shaking the Attorney-General's hand.

"Good luck to you, Matthew," John nodded.

"And to you, John," Matthew said before leaving the office.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Everyone, we have an announcement to make," Cora smiled.<p>

"My, this sounds serious," Mary raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of wine.

"It is," Robert nodded. "Sir Anthony Strallan has asked for my permission to propose to Edith, and I have granted it."

Edith smiled, looking down at her plate.

"What?" Mary exclaimed. "When?"

"At the Garden Party," Cora said cheerfully. "Sir Anthony asked Papa and once that was settled, Edith of course said yes."

"Oh, darling, congratulations!" Sybil grinned, squeezing Edith's hand.

"Yes," Matthew said, smiling incredulously. "Congratulations, Edith. That's wonderful news."

"Thank you. I'm very happy," Edith nodded.

"Are you quite sure?" Mary laughed. "We are talking about the same Strallan aren't we? The one who's nearly Papa's age? The one who's boring as paint?"

"Mary!" Cora scolded her.

"I find him very interesting, actually," Edith said coldly. "He was intending all along to ask Papa at the Garden Party, and the announcement of War only confirmed that he didn't want to waste another moment."

"But why?" Mary chuckled. "It isn't as if he'll be called up. Papa, doesn't the Army have an age limit?"

"Mary!" Cora frowned.

"Sir Anthony is still young enough to go fight for His Majesty, and we should be honoured to have such an upstanding man as part of this family," Robert replied, not looking at Mary. "Someone who understands the importance of duty is always welcome in this House."

Mary rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine.

"Speaking of the War, it's obvious that it will affect us. We need to set an example for our tenants and the villagers and all those under our care. It must be clear to all that our cause is just and that we support the government and the Army. Is that understood?" Robert asked.

"Yes, Robert, of course," Matthew replied.

"Yes, Papa," Sybil nodded.

"Your Mama is going to organize efforts in the Village. I suspect there will be collections at Church, fundraisers, that sort of thing. If any of the villagers enlist, that should be brought to my or Matthew's attention. We want to make sure they all receive a proper sending off," Robert nodded.

"Absolutely," Matthew agreed.

"I know that it does not bear repeating, but Matthew will be the head of this House. I expect his commands to be obeyed," Robert finished.

"Why? Where are you going?" Mary asked, perplexed at the change in subject.

"I spoke to the War Office when I was in London," Robert said. "The Green Howards have been called up and I shall be taking up my commission with them once again."

"You're going to War, Papa?" Edith exclaimed.

Cora looked down at her plate and frowned.

Mary looked at her father in confusion, as though she didn't hear what he'd said, or didn't believe it.

"Yes," Robert nodded. "The Earls of Grantham have fought bravely for this country for generations, and I shall continue that tradition, as I have done in the past. Accordingly, Matthew

will hold power in my stead."

"Will you be going to Belgium?" Matthew asked. "I'm not aware of whether there is a training period or not."

"First the lads will convene at Sandhurst for evaluation and training if necessary, and we'll receive our orders shortly after. I'll be leaving this weekend."

Matthew frowned, looking vacantly at the table centrepiece for several moments. The rest of the family was silent, Robert's words still hanging in the air. Finally, Matthew raised his glass and called for attention.

"To Robert Crawley, Seventh Earl of Grantham. Good luck and God speed," Matthew said.

The rest of the family raised their glasses and murmured their agreement. Robert looked at Matthew and smiled.

* * *

><p>"I wish you'd told me beforehand. It came as quite a shock," Matthew said.<p>

"I already had to endure an entire ordeal when I told Cora," Robert huffed. "I had no interest in repeating the same conversation with you. Besides, I suspect that you would have tried to convince me otherwise."

"I would have," Matthew nodded. "I don't presume to know very much at all about military matters, but surely you've served our country admirably already and it's time for someone else to carry the flag, if you forgive the implication."

"That's precisely why I did not tell you," Robert said. "Our House needs to be represented, and I do not want you to go."

"But surely it should be me that does go," Matthew said. "I do not wish to be seen as hiding behind you."

"You're not," Robert said kindly. "But you know nothing of War, or of being a soldier, and there's no shame in saying that you would be placing yourself in danger by enlisting. I've fought before. I know my men. I know my battalion. The transition will be manageable for me. Your place is here."

"You have far more experience than I do, of course, but I am concerned for you, just the same," Matthew shook his head.

"I do appreciate your sentiment, my boy," Robert smiled. "But I expect this conflict will be over in several months. Perhaps not by Christmas as some would have us believe, but I can't see this stretching much beyond next Winter. Neither side has the resources for it."

"Even still, being pushed into your chair, even for a few months, is a daunting task," Matthew said.

"You'll do fine," Robert nodded. "You already know all that is required, and truthfully not much can happen between now and Spring. The country will be wrapped up in War, but life will continue. You may need to manage some of the numbers if more servants enlist and what not, but you'll have Carson to help you, and if anything comes up, you can rely on Murray. I don't expect any problems. Edith's wedding won't be until next year."

"As you wish, Robert," Matthew said.

"It is crucial that we are a part of the victory," Robert said firmly. "The image of our House can only be helped by this. Remember that – when opportunity presents itself for us to show ourselves in a positive light for all of the Empire to see, we must be quick and decisive."

"Yes, Robert," Matthew said, sipping his port.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you're letting him do this," Mary said, frowning.<p>

"I'm not letting him do anything. He's the head of this family and he makes the decisions," Cora retorted.

"But surely you implored him to stay, Mama?" Sybil asked. "Is he truly needed in the Army?"

"I expect that your Papa wants to do his duty," Cora said carefully. "I did ask him not to go, but he was insistent."

"Of course he was," Mary rolled her eyes. "This isn't about duty. He wants to go play soldier again and reap the glory."

"Mary!" Cora frowned.

"Why would he volunteer? He hasn't served in years," Mary scoffed.

"His Majesty has called the country to arms, Mary, and your Papa has answered. It's very honourable what he's doing. I suspect Sir Anthony may do the same," Cora said.

"Is that true, Edith?" Sybil asked.

"We haven't discussed it," Edith said shakily. "Though he was in the forces before."

"Your Papa's decision is made and I expect all of you to support him. This is not a subject for debate. We will give him the respect and encouragement that he deserves," Cora said firmly, looking at each of her daughters in turn.

Mary pursed her lips and shook her head, staring into the fireplace.

* * *

><p>When the morning came for Robert to depart, the entire House gathered to see him off. The servants arranged themselves in rank, the maids on one end and the footmen on the other, with the rest of the staff in between organized by seniority and position. Robert made a point of talking to each of them, accepting their well wishes and assuring them all he would be home shortly. He shared a moment with both Bates and Carson, then moved on to his family.<p>

"Goodbye, Mama," Robert nodded to the Dowager Countess.

"Good luck to you," Violet nodded, smiling tightly. "I expect your swift and safe return.

Robert moved down the line, smiling politely to Isobel, kissing Cora on the cheek briefly and embracing each of Sybil and Edith. He stopped in front of Mary and nodded to her.

"Goodbye, Papa," Mary said tightly. "And such good luck."

Robert stared at her for a moment, then nodded and walked on.

"I'll try not to burn the house down while you're away," Matthew said, shaking Robert's hand.

"Well if you did, at least I could easily claim it had nothing to do with me and was entirely your fault," Robert smiled. "Do take care of everyone. It can be a thankless task sometimes, but the family relies on the Lord of the manor, and for the coming months, that's you, Matthew."

"Yes, Robert. I will. Good luck," Matthew said.

Robert Crawley, Seventh Earl of Grantham took one long last look at Downton Abbey, then quickly stepped into the waiting motor. The door was closed behind him and soon the car headed off down the lane in a small cloud of dust and gravel. The servants all filed back into the house, and Cora led the family through, with tea planned to be taken in the parlour. Matthew followed them, starting up a conversation with Sybil and Isobel as they went inside.

Mary remained, standing alone outside staring off into the distance where Robert's car had long disappeared. She took a long breath, then turned and went back inside.

* * *

><p>Matthew closed the door to his bedroom quietly as he came out into the hall. He took a few moments to adjust his vision to the darkness around him, then moved silently down the hall. He crossed the gallery, past the stairs and over into the Family Wing. He paused several times, standing still against the wall and listening for the slightest sound. Besides the odd creaking of the house and the ticking of the large clock downstairs, all was quiet.<p>

He opened the door to Mary's bedroom and slipped inside, closing the door behind him. He sniffed the air with surprise but didn't let the overpowering scent distract him. He moved in the dark, removing his robe and shirt. He pulled the blankets back and crawled into her bed.

Mary was laying on her usual side of the bed, her back to him. He reached out and stroked his fingers along her bare arm. She did not turn around. He came closer to her, fitting himself against her and kissing her shoulder lightly.

"It smells rather…different, in here," he said with a warm smile.

"I dropped a bottle of perfume earlier," Mary mumbled, still facing away from him. "Do you find it unpleasant?"

"No," Matthew said, kissing her neck. "I'm more used to the scent being rather subtle on your skin, rather than so strong in the air, but I'm not against it."

"Because you've just entered a tart's boudoir?" Mary said bitterly.

"I've come to my wife's bedroom," Matthew replied, ignoring her sour mood. "And I would lie with her in a barn if that's what it took."

Mary shook her head and sighed, curling his arm across her chest.

"What's the matter?" Matthew asked softly.

"I didn't think that Papa would actually go," Mary muttered. "And since he left this morning I can't help but wonder…"

"If he's coming back," Matthew finished.

She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers.

"I wanted this life for us, and I knew that it would anger Papa, but I never planned on having a life without him entirely," Mary whispered. "With the country at War now and Papa gone away to fight, the idea of being Countess of Grantham one day seems entirely unimportant.

"Papa once told me that war has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't," Matthew nodded.

"Was he ever in the Army?" Mary asked.

"No, but he treated numerous soldiers in the past, and helped treat many who had issues arising from their service – shell shock, amputations, and so on," Matthew explained.

"What does this all mean for us, Matthew?" Mary asked.

"I don't know," Matthew said. "With Robert gone, we could announce our marriage and who would oppose us? Murray or Jarvis might say something out of loyalty, but I could just sack them."

"What about our children?" Mary asked. "Would they be legitimate?"

"At first, yes, if only because no one would bother with them, but eventually, once I sat in the House, some may question it all. If the Estate does not have a proper heir to take it on, then the title would end and the assets could be distributed by the government. It would be in the interest of others that there be no legitimate heir so they could have Downton for a song. It would be a mess, but we wouldn't be here to see it," Matthew reasoned.

"Hardly a ringing endorsement," Mary scoffed.

"He's not gone, you know," Matthew said. "He'll have leave, he'll write, be kept updated on the latest news. If the War ends early next year, he'll be back and could cause problems for us if we were to be reckless."

"So do you wish to keep our marriage a secret, but continue to keep acting married, then?" Mary smirked.

"Do you?" Matthew asked.

"I could live this way for a fair amount of time. I've gotten used to it, whether that's good or bad," Mary said sadly. "But I want to be with you, truly and completely, without worrying about anything."

"As do I, my darling," Matthew kissed her neck. "As do I."

"So we stay the course?" Mary asked.

"Not exactly," Matthew smiled. "We should take advantage of the opportunity with Robert being gone."

"To do what?" Mary frowned, turning over and looking at him.

"I'll tell you tomorrow," Matthew smiled, leaning down and kissing her.

After several moments, she pushed back on his chest.

"Darling, I'm so sorry," she looked away from him. "It's just that with Papa leaving this morning and everything that…"

"Sleep, Mary," Matthew smiled, kissing her softly. "I'll hold you until you drift off."

She reached up and caressed his face tenderly, then pushed him on to his back and fitting herself against his chest.

* * *

><p>"Sir, Mr. Carson said you wanted to see me, sir?" Thomas said as he came into the library.<p>

"Yes, Thomas. One moment," Matthew said, flipping pages on the desk in front of him. He looked over the document for several moments, then picked it up and rose from his chair.

"I wanted to personally wish you well, Thomas," Matthew said. "We will miss you, but I do understand that you feel you must do your duty to His Majesty, and that is very honourable of you. You'll be in our prayers, and I do hope you'll write when you can."

"Of course, sir," Thomas smiled, nodding his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, sir."

"I also wanted you to look over something before you left," Matthew said, looking at the document in his hand. "You will recall that I mentioned to you months ago that I would need to rely upon you."

"Yes, sir," Thomas nodded. "I'll do what I can, sir."

"Good man, Thomas," Matthew smiled, handing him the document. "Take your time. I want to be certain that you understand everything written here."

Matthew motioned to the sofa and Thomas went over and sat down. Matthew stood by the desk, watching the footman intently.

Thomas read the document, turning the pages as he went. His eyes narrowed, then widened, then he swallowed audibly.

"What…what is this, sir?" Thomas said softly, looking up. His skin was pale, his hands shaking.

"It's an affidavit, Thomas. Your affidavit, to be precise," Matthew said, his expression neutral. "A sworn statement setting out certain events to which you have personal knowledge. With you going off to War, I wanted to make sure that I was clear on this particular matter so there's no need to trouble you at the Front. I wouldn't want you to be distracted and unable to focus when you are over there. This affidavit clarifies certain statements that you made before, and corrects them."

"I…I don't understand, sir," Thomas muttered. "I was very clear to His Lordship…"

"Yes, I am aware of what you told His Lordship, Thomas," Matthew said easily. "It seems to me though, that your story has several peculiarities."

"Peculiarities, sir?"

"Yes. For example, what were you doing in the Family Wing that evening? Bates was the valet for His Lordship and Louis was the valet for Patrick. You would have no reason to be in that part of the house so late in the evening, and certainly you would have no reason to be anywhere near Lady Mary's bedroom, would you, Thomas?" Matthew asked.

"I was taking care of Mr. Pamuk that evening, sir."

"Ah yes, Mr. Pamuk," Matthew nodded. "And if you were taking care of him, in the Bachelor's Wing, what brought you to the Family Wing?"

"I went through to the servants' stairs, sir."

"And Mr. Pamuk followed behind you on his way to his liaison with Lady Mary, and that's how you noticed him, wasn't it, Thomas?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, exactly, sir."

"And how did Mr. Pamuk know which bedroom was Lady's Mary's, Thomas?"

"I assume she gave him directions, sir."

"And why do you suppose he would have ventured to her bedroom so soon after you'd departed, such that you would be in a position to not only see him, but conveniently, for Louis to be so close at hand to see him as well?" Matthew asked.

"I…I went and fetched Louis when I saw Mr. Pamuk go to Lady Mary's bedroom, sir."

"And where was Louis? Was he with Patrick, or was he downstairs?" Matthew asked.

"He was…downstairs, sir. We went to fetch Mr. Patrick together."

"Ah, I see, and the three of you went back up to Lady Mary's bedroom and that's when Patrick heard Lady Mary and Mr. Pamuk in the throes, as it were," Matthew said.

"Yes…yes, sir."

"And the three of you stood idly by and waited for them to…finish…did you?" Matthew frowned.

"We…we saw Mr. Pamuk come out of her bedroom and she kissed him goodnight, sir."

"And how did you see that, exactly? By the light of his candle?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, sir."

"But why would he need a candle if he went to Lady Mary's bedroom right after you attended to him? The house is not closed down for the evening until hours after all of the family and guests are attended to, Thomas, isn't that right?" Matthew said.

"Yes…yes, sir."

"Are you saying that in the time that you, Louis and Patrick were standing around outside Lady Mary's bedroom, the lights were turned off in the hallway? The man must have been rather well endowed to be able to last for so many hours," Matthew said saracastically.

"Yes, sir…or, no, sir. I don't know, sir."

"Thomas, I don't blame you," Matthew said. "I believe you had good reason to fabricate your story to His Lordship. What I am asking you to do now, is to make up for that mistake."

"What reason could I have to lie to His Lordship, sir?" Thomas asked indignantly.

"Because you had no choice," Mary said, coming into the room.

Thomas' mouth fell open. "M…my Lady," he mumbled.

"Thomas," Mary said, coming over to him. "I know how cruel Patrick could be. And I suppose you had no reason to think of my side of things. We haven't exactly ever been friends. You don't need to explain your actions to me. Sign this affidavit and I shall consider your part in this matter absolved."

"Lady Mary, I…"

"Or, I'll have no choice but to bring my theory to Carson and Mrs. Hughes, and see what they think of the matter," she said. "I imagine they will find it rather convincing that the heir presumptive agrees with me."

"Sir, Lady Mary already explained herself to His Lordship the morning after the incident in question. What reason do you have to suspect that she is telling…"

Matthew took out the photograph that he and Mary found in the attic and turned it over, showing Thomas the note written by Patrick to Louis.

Thomas swallowed. He glanced at Matthew, then at Mary.

"Now why would Patrick have reason to remind Louis of those specific verses from scripture? And why is your face circled on the photograph?" Matthew asked.

"He told us that he only wanted to teach you a lesson," Thomas whispered, not looking at Mary. "We didn't think that you would be banished from the house!"

"I don't care," Mary said firmly. "I have bigger fish to fry now."

"If word got out about my role in all this, I would be ruined. I would never be able to work anywhere else," Thomas said nervously.

"We have no intention of making this public knowledge," Matthew said. "I'm going to hold your affidavit until an appropriate time to use it comes up. I expect it will not leave the walls of this house."

Thomas picked up the pen and turned the affidavit to the signature page.

"Do you swear the statements contained in this affidavit are true, so help you God?" Matthew asked, administering the oath.

"I do," Thomas said quietly, signing the affidavit.

Matthew took the document from him and signed as a commissioner of oaths. He extended his hand to Thomas.

"You've done yourself and Louis' memory a service, Thomas," Matthew nodded. "We'll pray for you, as I said. I hope this War ends soon and we see you back here safely."

"Thank you, sir," Thomas said, rising and shaking Matthew's hand. "My Lady."

"Thomas."

The footman walked quickly from the library.

"Are you certain that you wouldn't have made a good barrister?" Mary asked, smirking at Matthew.

"Quite," Matthew said, smiling back at her. "I was fortunate enough that he wanted the truth to come out. If he kept denying everything, I'm not so sure we would have turned him, even with the photograph."

"Well, we have his sworn statement now," Mary nodded.

"We do," Matthew said, looking at her intently. "And on we go."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Drewe Farm, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, September 1914<strong>_

"I'm so sorry, my Lady," Mrs. Drewe babbled, placing a plate of biscuits in front of Mary. "Had I known you would be coming, I would have prepared something."

"The fault is entirely mine," Mary smiled. "I do hope you'll forgive my intrusion, but Mr. Crawley ordered that I come speak to you straight away."

"How may we be of service, my Lady?" Mr. Drewe asked.

"Your neighbour, Mr. Taylor, has sadly fallen on difficult times," Mary said quietly. "As you know, two of his sons fell at the Battle of Mons, and he's no longer able to maintain his property with any regularity."

"He's tried, my Lady," Mr. Drewe nodded. "But he was struggling even before the War, I'm afraid."

"He was, admirably," Mary agreed. "Which is why we're going to help him by taking the farm back. He and his wife will move into a cottage nearby, and he'll still remain a part of this community."

"What do you intend to do with his land, my Lady?" Mr. Drewe asked.

"The crop yield from last year was low. It's been low for ten straight years. We think the land hasn't been used to its fullest potential. We'll plant once more after this year's harvest, but we're going to set aside some of the land for other purposes," Mary said crisply.

"Other purposes, my Lady?" Mrs. Drewe asked.

"Yes. Pigs, in particular," Mary said authoritatively.

"Pigs?" Mr. Drewe exclaimed.

"Yes," Mary nodded. "We have a group of Tamworths to start, and we'll see how it does before we decide to pursue it further."

"That is ambitious, my Lady," Mr. Drewe said.

"Yes, well, Mr. Crawley is a rather ambitious fellow," Mary said lightly, desperately trying to hold back a wide grin. Not that she was afraid that these tenants would read anything into her behaviour at the mention of her husband, but she was so used to being indifferent and cold to Matthew in public, that referring to him in any other way was daring and thrilling to her.

"But his plans can only succeed if we have a skilled pig man at the reins," Mary smiled, sipping her tea.

Mr. and Mrs. Drewe exchanged a shocked glance.

"You wouldn't happen to know of someone who could help us, do you, Mr. Drewe?" Mary smiled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew signed the documents and organized them in a neat stack. He placed the pen to one side and handed the documents to Murray.<p>

"There you are," he said quickly, rising from the desk. "Be sure it's filed by the end of the week and call me to confirm when it's all done."

"Yes, Mr. Crawley," Murray nodded, placing the documents in his briefcase. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you," Matthew nodded. "You'll stay for luncheon, of course."

Murray blinked in surprise. "I was planning on just nipping a bite in the Village, sir."

"Well that's nonsense," Matthew furrowed his brow. "You'll eat with us. That way you'll be able to speak knowledgably the next time that His Lordship asks you for an update on how the family is doing. I'll have Bates take care of you if necessary. We eat at one o'clock."

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley," Murray said slowly, still confused as Matthew left the room with a wave of his hand.

* * *

><p>"Murray will be joining us for luncheon," Matthew announced as he came into the parlour.<p>

"I'll have Mrs. Hughes inform Mrs. Patmore," Cora replied, glancing at Violet briefly.

"Thank you," Matthew said, coming over and sitting down in a chair. "Carson, if Murray requires anything, please have Bates attend to him. I won't require him until dinner."

"Yes, Mr. Crawley," Carson nodded from across the room before he turned and left.

"What business required Murray to come down from London?" Violet asked lightly as Matthew leafed through a book.

"He brought some papers for me to sign," Matthew said, closing the book and placing it on the coffee table. "I'm selling some of our stock, in companies in the New World mostly. With War going on, I think it better to have the money closer at hand."

Violet frowned.

"Why is that, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked quietly.

"Sybil!" Cora scolded her.

Sybil looked away.

"Cousin Matthew and Papa deal with the family business, Sybil. We don't," Edith said.

Mary rolled her eyes.

"It's no bother," Matthew smiled. "You see, Sybil, investing in companies in Canada and America carries greater risk than if we were to invest here in England, for example. If something goes wrong overseas, then we'd lose our money. There's risk here at home as well, of course, but at least here we have the opportunity to learn more about the companies we invest in, rather than send the money to a foreign land far away. I think it's best if we cash out now, take the money back that we've made so far, and consider other options."

Sybil nodded slowly.

"Is that wise?" Violet asked. "To change position so quickly in the face of this unfortunate business in Belgium?"

"It's no longer Belgium, I'm afraid. It's spread to France now, and well beyond," Matthew replied. "There's industries here in Britain that are possibly more lucrative, and it makes me feel better to be investing in our own, rather than send the money abroad."

"Well, so long as it makes you feel better," Violet said haughtily.

"It does," Matthew retorted, rising from his chair. "I'm enjoying it immensely."

Violet huffed as Matthew walked towards the door.

"I'm going to tour one of the farms before luncheon. Cousin Mary, why don't you accompany me? I'll meet you in the Great Hall when you're ready," Matthew called.

"As you wish, Cousin Matthew," Mary said indifferently.

Edith watched Matthew leave the room.

"You seem to be getting along with Cousin Matthew as of late," she remarked.

"His ideas for the Estate are refreshingly modern," Mary answered. "And I don't mind spending time with him, so long as it's in limited amounts."

"He certainly has many ideas, doesn't he?" Violet frowned.

"I'm not sure that Robert would be in favour of all of them," Cora shook her head. "Moving tenants to cottages, farming some of the land ourselves, now selling stock. He's changing a lot very quickly."

"But Papa left him in charge, didn't he?" Sybil asked. "He's within his rights to want to do these things, whatever they are."

"To a degree, yes," Cora said. "Papa left him power over certain matters."

"And has he exceeded his powers as of yet?" Mary asked.

"No, I can't say that he has," Cora admitted.

"Exactly," Mary declared. "Well, I had best go and change for my farm tour."

"Just don't do anything to embarrass him," Cora said firmly. "I don't know why he requires you to go with him anyway."

"The tenants know me better than they know him, Mama," Mary said. "Even though I've been away, they all remember me from before. Cousin Matthew is still a stranger to them. They're more comfortable if one of us is with him."

"She's right," Edith said. "I went into the Village with him earlier this week. His ideas for rationing food and discouraging hoarding went over rather well."

"He seems still a stranger to me," Violet noted. "He's been here for a year and I feel as though I barely know him."

"Well then you shouldn't be opposed to my going with him then, to keep him in line," Mary smiled, biding everyone a good morning before leaving.

"Mary keeping someone else in line. That's funny," Edith laughed.

* * *

><p>"You shouldn't spar with Granny," Mary said firmly. "She's suspicious of you as it is. There's no need to further stir her ire."<p>

"What could she possibly do?" Matthew asked as they walked along the fence line. "The truth about me is far more shocking than anything her imagination could dream up."

"And what truth is that?" Mary smirked.

"That I've somehow seduced her granddaughter and kept her in my thrall," Matthew smiled.

"Darling, you hardly seduced me. I chose you," Mary laughed.

"That's even more scandalous. An Earl's daughter throwing her lot in with a middle class solicitor? For shame, Mary," Matthew raised his eyebrow teasingly at her.

"You're enjoying this," Mary grinned. "Presiding over the house, giving commands, strolling over your domain with me on your arm."

"A veritable Trollope novel come to life," Matthew smiled.

"Here we are," Mary smiled, stopping in front of a large fence post. "Your land, Mr. Crawley."

"I thought all of it was ours," Matthew said.

"Well, it is, yes, but this is the border of the farm you have just purchased," Mary clarified.

Matthew surveyed the land, looking into the distance.

"Do you see it, Mary?" he asked. "Do you see how it all works? We already have that far parcel there, and this one behind. To not link them all together with this property here makes no sense. It makes no sense at all."

"I agree," Mary nodded. "But Papa will be incensed when he returns and discovers what you've done."

"Not if I am able to tell him how happy the Taylor and Clark families are in their new lives, and show him the return on our investment that I expect," Matthew said.

"Then you had best hope for a bumper crop," Mary said. "And that our lovely pigs fetch the prices you expect."

"It may be next year before Robert returns," Matthew said. "We have some time to build our case."

"Or do something that will make him even more angry," Mary smirked.

"If there's more money in the Estate, it doesn't matter whether he likes what I've done or agrees with me or not," Matthew said. "Keeping us out of bankruptcy is what I'm concerned about, not impressing your father."

"Do you truly believe the conflict will go on for that long?" Mary asked.

"They're talking about a war that will take thee years and require an army a million strong," Matthew sighed. "It's hard to know what to believe."

"Three years…" Mary repeated. "I don't know if I can wait that long, Matthew."

"You won't have to," Matthew said. "We'll take our chance before then, and fate shall decide."

"I don't trust my future to fate," Mary shook her head.

"Truly? Then what do you believe in, darling?" Matthew asked.

"You," Mary said simply.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her firmly, refusing to let her draw back as he caressed her tongue with his.

"Matthew!" she breathed when he released her mouth. "Someone could see us!"

"There's only birds and pigs around here, Mary," Matthew grinned. "And they already know our secret."

Mary laughed as he pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her as they kissed again. She opened her mouth and pushed her tongue forward, rewarded by his groan at her boldness.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1914**_

* * *

><p>"As far as I can gather, Mr. Crawley, these are the larger companies involved in the War effort, at least in terms of profile," Murray said, passing a list across the table to Matthew.<p>

Matthew held the page up and reviewed it for several moments. He turned it to the side so he could look at Murray directly.

"Marconi's Wireless Telegraph Company – what do they provide? Communications?" Matthew asked.

"Yes," Murray nodded. "They provide the long distance network for the Army."

Matthew put the page down and took out his fountain pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He placed checkmarks next to some of the companies on the list and crossed off others. He looked over the list again, then put his pen back in his pocket and passed the list over to Murray.

"Make inquiries of those companies as marked," Matthew said, rising from the table and going over to the bar. "I'd be prepared to make a small investment in the companies that are publically traded. For the private ones, see whether they are open to taking on investors."

Matthew poured brandy into two snifters and brought them both over to Murray. The Grantham family solicitor accepted one and raised it to Matthew before taking a sip.

"As you wish, Mr. Crawley," Murray said. "I should have a report for you by the time you reach London next week for Winter Season."

"Thank you," Matthew said. "Lord Grantham was pleasantly surprised by my last report to him on the farming changes and restructuring of our investment portfolio. I'd like to have even better numbers to report to him shortly. Not having him here over Christmas will be a blow to the family. I hope that at least if he knows that Downton is in good hands, it will give him some comfort over there."

"I'm sure it will, Mr. Crawley," Murray nodded. "Lord Grantham commended you in his last letter to me. He said he was surprised, yes, but very pleased with your initiative."

"I'm doing my best," Matthew said. "It's all any of us can do, isn't it, Murray?"

"Yes, sir," Murray said, taking another sip.

"Mr. Crawley, sir," Carson called, coming into the library. "Forgive me for the interruption, but we have a bit of an emergency."

"An emergency?" Matthew frowned.

"I'll be going now," Murray said, placing the brandy snifter down on the table. "I'll see you in London next week, Mr. Crawley."

"Murray," Matthew waved his hand briefly before focusing back on Carson.

"What sort of emergency, Carson?" he asked.

"I'm afraid that it's Lady Mary, sir," Carson said with concern. "She's asked for you and said it's quite urgent."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham Estate Pig Farm, Yorkshire, England, December 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew got out of the car while Branson was still bringing it to a halt. He ran up the short rise to the farm, going past the snow covered pens and into the barn. He looked about frantically, the smell from the animals barely registering as he searched for his wife.<p>

"Mary!" he shouted, seeing her standing near the far wall. He sprinted towards her, then stopped when he realized that she was not alone.

"Ah, Cousin Matthew," Mary said, smiling politely to him. "You're just in time."

"Just in time for…" Matthew frowned, then looked over to the pen that Mary was standing beside.

"Mr. Drewe," Matthew nodded to the farmer. "Erm…how are things?"

"We're about to have ourselves some piglets, Mr. Crawley, sir," Drewe smiled.

Matthew frowned and approached slowly. "Piglets?"

"Seems as though one of the sows was pregnant when she arrived. She's due anytime now," Drewe smiled.

Matthew turned to Mary, glaring at her pointedly. "This was the emergency?" he whispered. "Piglets?"

"The first pigs born from our project," Mary smiled. "The acting Earl ought to be here for the occasion, don't you think?"

"Mary, I thought you were in danger!" Matthew hissed. He glanced over at Drewe and was relieved to see the man focused on preparing for the coming birth and not paying attention to them. Matthew turned back to Mary with a stern expression. She arched her eyebrow at him playfully.

"We'll discuss this later," he growled.

A squeal from the pen interrupted them and Matthew and Mary both went to the fence to watch as Drewe helped the delivery of six healthy piglets.

"What shall we name them?" Matthew asked, smiling at the sight.

"Sticking to numbers is probably best, Cousin Matthew," Mary smirked. "It's surely not a good idea to get too attached to them, given the business that we are in."

"Would you like to hold one of them, Mr. Crawley?" Drewe asked, raising a pig in his hands to Matthew.

"Erm…" Matthew stammered.

Mary looked away, covering her mouth with her hand to stop herself from laughing too obviously.

Matthew held the piglet in his hands at arm's length from his body. He smiled tightly as the piglet bleated several times, then closed its eyes. Matthew handed the piglet back to Drewe, who put it back down to nurse.

"If only a photographer were here to capture the sight of you, Matthew Crawley, heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham, sitting at your country seat," Mary smirked.

Matthew rolled his eyes at her. He looked at his hands, trying not think about what they might be soiled with.

"Well done, Mr. Drewe. Carry on," Matthew said. He reached out for Mary's arm and she walked briskly away from him, keeping her distance.

"Your hands are filthy, Matthew!" she whispered as they moved towards the entrance to the barn. "You need to clean yourself up."

"A brilliant observation," he said pointedly, using a discarded rag to try and clean his hands. "Branson is waiting for us. Let's go. You can give the family a report on your emergency tonight at dinner."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>With Thomas having left for War, Matthew found it easier to slip away out of his bedroom at night, or for Mary to come to him. Bates was now his valet, and there was a more formal air to their relationship. Though conversation with Bates was cordial and the man had a dry sense of humour, he was far more proper about the division between upstairs and downstairs, and so he went about his tasks efficiently and departed without much chatter. It made Matthew's forays into the dark hallways far easier.<p>

"I must say that I think I prefer your bedroom to mine," Mary sighed, kissing his bare chest as she tried to calm her breathing.

Matthew stroked her back, smiling as he felt her shiver from his touch. He took several deep breaths, the aftershocks of their lovemaking still causing him to feel delightfully paralyzed.

"Why?" he asked. "Your room is larger and the bed is more comfortable."

"Perhaps," Mary smiled, settling against him contentedly. "But the Bachelor's Wing is deserted, save for you. It allows me to be more…expressive."

"You are…louder…here," Matthew grinned, the sound of Mary's passion causing him to move his hips in memory.

"Stop it!" Mary hissed, grinning up at him. "I'm worn out! Haven't you punished me enough for that entire affair with the piglets?"

"Not nearly," Matthew frowned pointedly. "God, Mary, I thought something had happened to you."

"How gallant of you to be concerned for your cousin's welfare," Mary smiled.

"You know exactly what I am referring to!" Matthew grumbled. "And if you give me that ridiculous 'you don't have a wife' drivel, I'll be forced to punish you some more."

"As though you could in all good conscience," Mary laughed, stroking his cheek. "You should be thanking me. I rescued you from a boring meeting with Murray."

"I have no complaints about Murray," Matthew said. "The man does his job and doesn't ask too many questions. And considering that he is reporting on our every move back to your father, it is in our interest to keep him as placated as possible."

"You've been on a lucky streak so far. Let's hope that it continues," Mary said, running her hand idly across his stomach.

"It's a double-edged sword," Matthew huffed. "The better our improvements go, the more stable the finances of the Estate, which means the Estate isn't necessarily in danger and our argument before Parliament becomes weaker. Allow the previous problems to persist, and we'd be far worse off, even if we were to successfully break the entail."

"Well, it will be difficult to convince some that we're in trouble in any event," Mary said. "Mama's Winter Season party is looking to be the grandest of the grand. I'm surprised that you approved all of her plans."

"It's a fundraiser, not just a ball," Matthew said. "And we are sharing hosting duties with Aunt Rosamund. All in all, I thought it a sound compromise. I think we all could use some holiday cheer, especially given that Robert won't be back."

"It's hardly going to be a proper Christmas," Mary muttered. "War going on; Papa away; having to give you a polite gift. I thought that last year would be the last Christmas we'd spend as only cousins, but it seems I was wrong."

"It can't be long now, darling," Matthew said. "The War will either be over by Spring, and we'll move before Parliament soon after, or we're in for a longer debacle than anyone imagined, and if so, then the government will need to get on with other matters, including ours."

"Are you so sure that you're moving as quickly as you can?" Mary asked, looking up at him.

"What are you talking about?" Matthew frowned back at her. "I told you what John said."

"I know, darling. I don't mean to say that you're dallying," Mary sighed. "It's just that perhaps you've settled into this routine and are now quite comfortable with it."

"Comfortable with it?" Matthew repeated. "In what way?"

"Controlling most of the Estate in Papa's absence, being quite literally the man of the house, making love to me whenever you wish then sending me back to my room, not having to talk to me or spend time with me during the day beyond a few cursory words and moments," Mary listed. "I think that keeping our marriage a secret actually agrees with you."

"Why, you naughty minx!" Matthew exclaimed, his mouth falling open in shock.

Mary yelped as Matthew sat up and turned her over on to her back. He seized her lips in a fierce kiss, then moved to her neck, his one hand cupping her bottom and pulling her leg over his, his other squeezing her breast.

"If I had my way you would wear your wedding ring at all times," Matthew said firmly between kisses. "We would walk through the Village and tour the cottages arm in arm as proper husband and wife, so that all the villagers would see how enraptured you are by me."

Mary laughed, slapping at his shoulders playfully as he tickled her sides.

"Incorrigible!" she gasped as she laughed.

"And if you think that making love to you once ever few weeks is my idea of having you whenever I wish, then you are sorely mistaken," he continued, kissing her clavicle and moving to her breast.

"Insatiable man! Matthew!" she cried, her laughter dying down as he moved down her stomach and parted her legs. Her fingers tangled into the back of his head.

"You're not going back to your room until I'm thoroughly finished with you, Mrs. Crawley," Matthew growled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, December 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Can't he just be brought back?" Sybil asked.<p>

"Papa is in the Army, darling, not volunteering at a soup kitchen," Mary rolled her eyes. She looked down at her jewellery box and played around with different brooches. "He'll be granted leave at some point, but that may not be for months yet. He's was only sent across in September."

"What about Sir Anthony, Edith?" Sybil asked. "Surely he isn't enlisting?"

"His unit hasn't been called up yet," Edith replied. "But it's only a matter of time. The end of this entire affair does not seem imminent."

"Is Strallan joining us for Christmas, then?" Mary asked, holding a brooch against her dress, then shaking her head at the reflection in the vanity mirror and putting the brooch back in her jewellery box.

"I was hoping that he would. I need to ask permission from Cousin Matthew. Speaking of which, where is he?" Edith asked.

"He had a meeting this afternoon with the Attorney General," Mary said. "He may not be back in time for dinner. He said to go on without him and he'll come back if he can."

"The Attorney General? Whatever for?" Edith asked.

"They're old family friends," Mary said. "Apparently Cousin Isobel knows his father, or something to that effect. I don't think it's a professional call."

Mary swallowed, looking at another brooch. She didn't think it mattered whether either Edith of Sybil was suspicious about Matthew's comings and goings, but the less scrutiny the better.

They all turned as there was a firm knock at the door.

"Yes, who is it?" Mary called.

Cora opened the door and came inside. Realizing her other daughters were present, she smiled to them, then motioned to the door.

"Go on downstairs. I need to talk to Mary," she said.

Edith and Sybil both nodded and left the room, closing the door behind them.

"Does this brooch work?" Mary asked, holding up a brooch that Matthew bought for her against her dress. "I can't decide."

"It's charming," Cora said, walking over and sitting down on the bed. Her expression was pensive.

"Oh, dear, is this another scolding?" Mary asked, rolling her eyes at her Mama's clearly rigid posture.

"Of course not," Cora smiled. "You're too grown up to scold these days."

"Heavens," Mary blinked in surprise. "Then it's really serious."

"I'd like you to look after Lorenzo Caserta, Count of Cavour tonight. He's a nice, decent man. His position may not be quite like Papa's, but his family has substantial holdings and he isn't too picky. You could be a force for good in his country," Cora said.

Mary almost dropped her brooch.

"You can't be serious," she said slowly.

"Mary, now is a perfect time, with the country distracted by the ongoing conflict, to get you settled. Your past won't be nearly as important with everyone's attention focused elsewhere," Cora explained.

"Mama, not again," Mary groaned. "I thought that when I returned, you'd given up on ordering me to marry the man sitting next to me at dinner."

"If you're living under your Papa's roof, then you're my responsibility," Cora retorted. "And the sooner we can have your future decided, the better."

"Why is it so important to marry me off?" Mary asked. "I thought you'd be still over the moon with Edith's engagement."

"Your sister has done very well for herself, with far fewer advantages than you. You're hardly in a position to object, Mary. You're an Earl's daughter with a sullied reputation. You're damaged goods," Cora said pointedly.

"I also know what I am capable of, and forty years of boredom and duty isn't possible for me, and in another country no less! Honestly, Mama," Mary shook her head.

"You gave up your right to pick and choose years ago, Mary," Cora said, rising from the bed. "Now that Edith is settled and Sybil still fresh from her debut, the sooner your situation is taken care of, the better. The Count is arriving before dinner and I expect you to dazzle him."

Cora left, closing the door behind her. Mary sighed in exasperation. She set the brooch aside, then lifted the tray of her jewellery box. Buried underneath a velvet cloth, her betrothal and wedding rings sat hidden away. She lifted the cloth and stared at them, touching them with her fingers. The rings that she still could not wear openly; the symbols that would be her shield against the leering glances and unwelcome invitations of other men and the schemes of her Mama; the proof of Matthew's claim to her and her vows to him.

Mary replaced the cloth and tray and closed her jewellery box. She closed her eyes tight, whispering to her empty bedroom.

"Matthew, I need you. Please come back."

* * *

><p>"And these are my daughters, Mary, Edith and Sybil," Cora beamed, introducing the Count to the sisters.<p>

All three of them nodded their heads and greeted their guest. The Count remarked on Edith's betrothal ring and congratulated her. Edith smiled politely, pleased from both the attention and the fact that she would not need to entertain the elderly aristocrat.

Mary could not even be bothered to roll her eyes when Cora pulled Edith and Sybil away on some invented excuse of having to talk to Granny. She smiled kindly and nodded her head as the Count explained to her why Italy had not yet entered the War.

Mary bristled but maintained her composure when the Count placed his hand at her back and steered her towards a corner of the room. She kept herself calm as his fingers lingered on her body longer than was necessary, and when he would touch her arm or shoulder as he spoke. She knew he was deliberately closing her off from the rest of her family, putting them further and further away from anyone who could see them, but she had no recourse but to follow his direction and hope that the dinner gong would sound.

"Count Cavour," a voice called. "I would be very interested to hear more about your home."

Mary's eyes widened and she looked past the annoyed face of the Count. She almost cried tears of gratitude as Isobel came to her side, standing between her and the Count and smiling politely.

"My late husband loved Turin," Isobel continued. "He was never much of a skier, of course, but he always found the mountains majestic and the food divine."

"Yes, yes," the Count nodded. "Well, Cavour is a lovely place, Mrs. Crawley."

"Does your family own farms there? I do so wish I could see it," Isobel smiled.

By the time the dinner gong sounded, Isobel had forced the Count to give her a description of Cavour that the Italian government would probably want to copy for its tourism department. Mary was not bothered in the least to walk through with the Count to the dining room. She already knew she would be sitting next to him at dinner, but she had survived the attempt to have them spend time alone together, thanks to her mother-in-law.

Dinner was hardly an innocent or bearable experience, regardless. Several times the Count's hand ghosted across her thigh under the table, on the pretence of him adjusting his napkin. Mary tried to shift her chair away from him surreptitiously, however being on the end of the table, she could not move very far without arousing suspicion. She gazed longingly at Matthew's empty chair next to her at the head of the table. It wasn't as though his presence would save her from entertaining the Count, but at least if he was in the room, she would have the courage to get through the next horrid hours.

"I knew your grandfather Arthur," he said with his clipped accent.

He had the same mannerism as Matthew in that he frequently ran his hand through his hair. However, since he was mostly bald it was not a becoming gesture. Mary did not feel particularly threatened by him, being in a room full of her family. It was more what he represented that bothered her. How many other horrible suitors would her Mama and Granny line up for her after she threw this one aside? She'd hoped that her reputation would work in her favour, that her Mama would deem her a lost cause and leave her to manage her own affairs. It seemed that Edith becoming engaged had only renewed their Mama's dogged efforts.

"A fine man, Arthur," the Count continued. "He knew how to take what he wanted from the world. He was perhaps wrong about some things, being so, what is the word? Focused, yes. Focused on his legacy and what others thought of him. In my country, we do what we please. You will enjoy that, Lady Mary, yes? Not having to care about what others think of you?"

Mary swallowed her wine quickly. She nodded politely.

"I've never been one to be overly concerned about the opinions of others, or even what some may have planned for me," Mary replied. "I learned to be more independent when I spent time in Manchester a while ago. There is a value in taking control of one's life, and ensuring that everything is planned, organized and executed to one's liking."

Mary could feel her Mama's frown across the table and it made her smile for the first time all evening.

"I agree, Lady Mary," the Count nodded. "I like to make my own plans as well, and show others how I fit within theirs."

Mary sipped her wine again. How had this ridiculous behaviour charmed the Count's previous two wives, she wondered. Perhaps they were even less picky than he supposedly was.

"Why don't we go through?" Cora declared. "Count, I do apologize that my husband is off fighting against the Germans and is not here to host you properly. You're welcome to have port and cigars if you like, but perhaps you would prefer if Mary gave you a tour of the house before coming and joining us in the sitting room?"

"Yes, I would very much like that," the Count replied, almost sneering at Mary's breasts rather than making eye contact.

"Actually, I'd like to share a drink with our guest."

Mary's eyes widened and she looked up, refusing to trust only her ears.

"Matthew Crawley, heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham," Matthew announced, walking smoothly down the room and bowing to the Count. "Please forgive me for being inappropriately late. If I had known that there would be a distinguished guest in our house, I would have returned much sooner."

Matthew shot a glance at Cora and Violet, before taking his seat at the head of the table, with Mary and the Count to his right.

"Cousin Matthew," Violet smiled falsely. "We were not expecting you. We had thought your reunion with your friend the Attorney General would occupy you through the dinner hour."

"I'm very pleased to surprise you, Cousin," Matthew smiled back. "Thankfully Viscount Simon had another matter to attend to, and when I was informed that the good Count was dining with us tonight, I rushed back as soon as I could."

Mary blinked in surprise. She stole a glance across the table at Isobel, who only smiled mysteriously as she sipped her wine.

In that moment, Mary almost was more eager to announce to the world that Isobel was her mother-in-law than that Matthew was her husband.

"Well, then we'll let Matthew and the Count speak to each other and we'll await both of you to come through," Cora recovered, rising from her chair and leading the ladies to the sitting room.

* * *

><p>"I am pleased to meet you," the Count smiled, puffing on his cigar. "It is far easier to discuss terms between men."<p>

"I agree," Matthew nodded, sipping his port. "Well then, I know it is proper in Italy to draw out these types of discussions, but I'm rather tired from my day, so why don't we get to it?"

"I like Lady Mary," the Count said easily. "She has spirit."

Matthew swallowed, wetting his lips to calm himself. There was no doubt from the faraway look on the Italian's face just what euphemism 'spirit' was supposed to represent when it came to Mary.

"I am prepared to take the problem of her reputation out of your hands," the Count said. "I am due to marry in the Spring, to a family friend. Lady Mary shall be my consort, and shall be given a rather independent life. I will be spending most of my time in Roma with the government. She will accompany me on most of my trips, but rest assured she will be well taken care of, and she will have most days to herself."

Matthew was grateful that the plates and cutlery had been cleared before the port and cigars were served. It would be embarrassing for the family to explain how the Count of Cavour had been stabbed with a dinner fork.

"And what about children?" Matthew asked.

"There will be none. I'm too old," the Count scoffed. "Children are inconvenient. I already have four of them. Appropriate measures will be taken once Lady Mary arrives in Italy to ensure that there are no others."

"Measures other than abstinence, I assume?" Matthew asked, staring directly at the Count.

The Count laughed heartily.

"Mr. Crawley, I like you!" he chuckled. "No, though my wife will never know otherwise, I will not be abstaining where Lady Mary is concerned. Not at all, no."

Matthew stared at his empty port glass. He sighed, thinking to himself how it would feel to jab the small vessel into the old man's eye.

"I thank you for coming, this evening, Count," Matthew nodded. "I hope that the next year proves safe and prosperous for both of our nations. As for Lady Mary, your generosity is greatly appreciated, but I cannot allow the arrangement that you are proposing. Good evening."

The Count rose from his seat in surprise, placing his cigar on the ashtray in front of him.

"Mr. Crawley, I do not understand," the Count sputtered. "I had an agreement with Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess. Tonight was simply for me to inspect Lady Mary and ensure she was to my liking, which I have now done, and to discuss the final terms. I was planning to take her back to Italy at the end of next week."

"I regret to inform you that neither Cousin Violet, nor Cousin Cora has the authority to agree to the terms you are proposing, as I am sure you are well aware. An agreement with a woman is hardly something worth relying upon, surely you know that, Count?" Matthew said. "In any event, such a transaction would require Lady Mary's approval, and I am quite confident she is not inclined to grant it. She is rather disagreeable, as you may have heard. In this instance though, I tend to agree with her. She may be tarnished, as you say, but she is still an English Lady, and to spend her future days as but a consort is hardly the life that this family envisions for her."

"You English are puzzling," the Count frowned, shaking his head. "Always different messages, different agreements."

"You're very familiar with different agreements, though, aren't you, Count?" Matthew said, his eyes narrowing. "Isn't that why you already concluded an agreement with Lord Eldwidge regarding his eldest daughter? I realize that she is much older than Lady Mary, but obviously there is something about her that is to your liking, otherwise you wouldn't have made arrangements for her to be brought back to Italy next week?"

The Count frowned, then looked away and cursed in Italian, before looking back at Matthew.

"If you feel so strongly about it, Mr. Crawley, then I shall thank you for your hospitality and be going," the Count said.

"The night is young, Count. Do come through. It would be rude to cast you out so soon. And though you may not be leaving with the prize that you sought, we can still be polite, can't we?" Matthew smiled. "I'm sure that Cousin Cora and Cousin Violet would enjoy speaking to you. And have you met my mother?"

The Count nodded politely and walked through with Matthew.

* * *

><p>Matthew came into the ballroom and smirked at the sight. The chandeliers and sconces had all been polished, and the floor just cleaned. Everything sparkled, from the lights to the silver trays carried by the servants laden with hors d'oeuvres and drinks, to the glint of jewellery worn by the women. A string quartet accompanied by a harpist was playing in the corner, and the lively chatter of pleasant conversation filled the air.<p>

"It's as though none of them realize there's a war going on," Isobel said, coming to his side.

"Hardly, Mother," Matthew said, glancing about. "It's precisely why they are so jovial – because there is a war going on. Surely you recognize a coping strategy when you see it?"

Isobel laughed and took her son's arm as he escorted her into the ballroom. He nodded to several lords as they went, men who he barely knew just a year ago, and now he had a list of their secrets stowed away for future use.

"Cousin Matthew, Cousin Isobel," Mary smiled widely as she approached them. "It's a lovely ball isn't it?"

"I just hope that all of these merry makers are generous with their donations," Isobel nodded, steering Mary over to the wall. "We are trying to raise money for the cause. We must not lose sight of that."

"Mary is well aware of why we are here, Mother," Matthew smirked. "Did she not do a masterful job with the Christmas raffle back in Manchester?"

"Matthew!" Mary frowned, glancing at Isobel. "Someone might overhear you!"

"An advantage of having a small orchestra and dozens of inebriated guests, darling," Matthew whispered. "Is that no one has the faculties or the opportunity to eavesdrop."

Mary rolled her eyes and shared a smile with Isobel.

"Thank you so much for rescuing me from Count Lorenzo last night," Mary said to Isobel appreciatively. "I didn't know that Dr. Crawley ever visited Turin."

"He didn't," Isobel said lightly. "Reginald hardly ever left Manchester as you know, and he hated winter sports."

Mary's mouth fell open in surprise and she looked at Matthew, who winked at her knowingly.

"When Cousin Violet mentioned that the good Italian was coming to dinner, I knew what scheme they were up to and I knew that I needed to protect my daughter-in-law," Isobel said quietly. "The man seemed to have more arms than an octopus, didn't he?"

"And you sent word to Matthew," Mary said.

Isobel smiled and nodded. "Thank goodness he arrived before you were forced to take that despicable man on a tour of the house. Who knows what would have happened?"

"There's no need to discuss it further. He's gone," Matthew nodded.

"Ah! John Simon has arrived," Isobel grinned, looking towards the door.

"Go and talk to him before some Tory gets their hooks into him," Mary said, motioning for Matthew to go over.

* * *

><p>"Far be it from me to give you political advice, but resigning hardly seems the appropriate response," Matthew said, sipping his champagne.<p>

"You don't know the entire story, Matthew," John shook his head. "It's far more dire than we let on. Kitchener's numbers weren't entirely far fetched, I'm sorry to say. We estimate that we'll need a recruiting push very soon, otherwise we'll be well short. The French are already complaining that we aren't pulling our weight, and by numbers alone, they would be right."

"So what's next? Conscription?" Matthew asked.

"Churchill has been pushing for it since before the War began," John said grimly. "We're not so desperate yet, but there have been discreet discussions about it – age limits, what occupations would be exempted, that sort of thing. If it comes to that, I'll have no choice but to leave my post. I can't support such a bill."

Matthew nodded.

"Anyway, as I mentioned to you last night, I suspect that your time is nigh. The War obviously won't be over by Christmas, and we've essentially passed the legislation to empower the Army, mobilize industry and limit the media. We'll need to look at real matters soon, and not just be debating War measures day in and day out," John said.

"I almost feel silly bringing forward my bill in light of all that's happening," Matthew said.

"Timing is a delicate matter," John nodded. "But I expect you'll need to move on this before April. Wait too long and we're bound to be distracted again and you'll be left out."

Matthew nodded, weighing the Attorney General's words.

"Now, I'm going to get something to eat, then take my leave, if you don't mind," John said. "If I stay too long, I'll get very drunk and end up taking a piece out of some of these bloody toffs."

Matthew laughed. "You do realize that you and I are both technically toffs now as well."

"You're a Manc and I'm the son of one," John smiled. "Don't ever forget that, Matthew."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1914<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Before Carson brings the Christmas pudding in, let's have a toast and a quiet moment," Matthew announced, rising from the table and raising his glass.<p>

The family all raised their glasses in return. Edith smiled at Sir Anthony. Aunt Rosamund shared a curious glance with her mother. Isobel watched Matthew with pride and Mary and Sybil looked at each other fondly.

"First of all, welcome Anthony to the family," Matthew nodded to the older man. "I won't bore everyone with a long speech. Robert is far better at such things."

Mary smirked. Cora grinned.

"I'll only say that let's please take a moment to remember those who aren't here with us today, be they in France, or…further away…they remain in our thoughts always. This is a time of uncertainty for the nation, and I know that we're all a bit on edge. You may feel as though the world is changing all around you, even with something as small as cancelling the New Year's Shoot or seeing the servants go off to enlist, or hearing mention of the soldiers during Church service, but do not be sad. No one would want that. What is important is that we are together, both here with each other and in spirit with others. The world may change, but Downton will still stand, and we shall still be here. Happy Christmas," Matthew said quietly.

"Happy Christmas," everyone echoed, raising their glasses to each other as Matthew took his seat.

Carson brought the Christmas pudding into the dining room, and everyone smiled at the flickering flames dancing around it. He placed it ceremoniously in front of the Dowager Countess and handed her the knife.

"Sybil's favourite," Mary smiled.

* * *

><p>"Promise me, Matthew," Mary breathed, holding him tight, her hands running up and down his back.<p>

"Mary," he sighed against her neck, licking her skin. He pulled her arms back and captured her wrists, gently but firmly holding them above her head. His eyes found hers, and he kissed her softly again and again, the lightest of touches, swiping his tongue across her lips, drawing a moan from her throat, until she was arching against him, her breasts pressed against his chest.

"I promise, Mary," he whispered, kissing her again. "I promise that this will be the last Christmas that we ever spend in secret. No more celebrating our anniversary in a hotel room in the middle of the day. No more giving each other socks and hats for Christmas. No more keeping your wedding rings hidden away."

"Matthew," she moaned, biting his lower lip, encouraging him to kiss her more deeply. He pressed against her, and she opened her legs, inviting him in and gasping as they joined together.

He kissed her again as he matched the rhythm of her hips, the feel of her driving him mad. Her soft calves across his thighs, her fingers locked with his above her head, her swollen lips and warm tongue. She filled his senses and he was drowning in her, focused entirely on her voice, her heat. They could have been back in Manchester at the Midland, or in London at the Berkeley, in her bedroom or his, none of it mattered. She was his, forever, and their day of reckoning would come, and they would emerge from it either as the future Earl and Countess of Grantham, or go back to being merely husband and wife, but there was no time for waiting any longer.

"Yes," she gasped into his ear, her desire molten as he refused her the use of her hands. She could only move her body against him, plead for him to go deeper, and finally he was there, where she needed him, and she cried out, the weight of him on top of her a firm reminder of what they'd done.

"My darling," he kissed her, moving off of her and drawing the blankets up over them.

She took several deep breaths, smiling at him as he got out of bed to remove the condom and clean himself with a towel. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and brought it back to bed, taking a sip then handing it to her.

"This is terribly improper," she smirked, taking a sip of the cold water gratefully before passing the glass back to him.

"Drinking from your husband's cup?" Matthew arched his eyebrow. "I find it entirely appropriate actually."

Mary turned her head and looked out the window, the snow falling lazily in the moonlight. Matthew hugged her close, kissing her neck and pulling her back against his chest. She closed her hand over his, putting off going back to her bedroom for a little while longer.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Who was that calling so late?" Cora asked as Matthew came back into the dining room.<p>

"Lord Eldwidge, actually," Matthew said. "He's requested that I come to London to discuss business with him. Apparently he relied heavily on Robert for advice and now he's content to settle for me."

"I suppose that qualifies as a compliment," Violet remarked.

"Will you be gone for long, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked.

"A few days this week, then again in about a fortnight," Matthew said, taking a sip of water. "I'm hoping to get some business done while I'm in the city."

"Would you like me to have Grantham House opened?" Cora asked.

"I'll stay at the club," Matthew shook his head. "I'll be back and forth over the next few weeks so no need to keep the house open just for me to pop in."

They all resumed eating. Matthew caught Mary's eye and raised his eyebrow to her knowingly. She nodded slightly, then took a sip of wine.

"Edith, weren't you planning to go to the city?" Mary asked. "Your trousseau is still to be finished, isn't it?"

"Yes, actually," Edith nodded in surprise. "I was going to wait for Spring."

"But the Spring and Summer fashions are already on display," Cora said. "I would take you but organizing next month's concert is keeping me occupied."

"Well we can go and look, the three of us," Mary smiled. "It isn't as though any of Edith's outfits will be finished right away. There's plenty of time for you to look them over later, Mama."

"I suppose Mary is right," Edith shrugged.

"Then it's decided. We'll make a weekend of it. That will be fun, won't it, Sybil?" Mary smiled.

"A weekend of dress shopping for Edith's wedding. Marvellous," Sybil smiled tightly.

"Well you do need a gown if you're going to be one of the bridesmaids," Matthew smiled.

"We'll stay at Aunt Rosamund's," Mary declared. "We can all have dinner whenever Cousin Matthew can make himself available to us."

"This does sound like an amusing excursion," Violet frowned, glancing at Mary suspiciously.

"I think it's brilliant," Isobel nodded. "I would have liked to have had sisters to accompany me when I was fitted for my wedding dress."

"Sisters are sometimes overrated at weddings," Violet said lightly. "They either want you to look your worst, or they go out of their way to look their best."

"Edith need not worry about that, Granny," Mary smirked. "She can have Sir Anthony all to herself."

"Mary, honestly," Cora shook her head.

"What? I'm simply stating that neither Sybil nor I have any designs on Sir Anthony. Would you want it to be otherwise?" Mary asked.

"No, but you don't have to be so enthusiastic when you say it," Cora frowned.

The family went back to their dinner. Edith was already imagining what outfits she would pick out and what her wedding dress would look like. Sybil was already feeling bored, thinking a weekend shopping trip with her sisters paled in comparison to whatever important business Cousin Matthew was pursuing. Cora and Violet each returned to a discussion about the fundraising concert at Downton in March.

Matthew glanced over at his mother briefly before looking at Mary. He then returned to slicing his broccoli. The three of them knew exactly what the telephone call meant and what it was about. Matthew was being summoned to Parliament, not by Lord Eldwidge, but by John Simon, the Attorney General. It was time. Matthew's bill to break the Grantham Estate entail was going ahead. Each of them knew the implications should the bill succeed or fail, and as the family continued to eat in a comfortable silence, Mary, Matthew and Isobel each quietly prayed for the strength to face whatever was to come.


	25. Chapter 25

_**House of Commons, Palace of Westminster, London, England, February 1915**_

* * *

><p>It was going well. At least, from what Mary could hear, she thought that much to be true. Since she was sitting in the upper gallery, the only place women were allowed in the Lower House, she wasn't privy to all interactions on the floor. She couldn't hear all of the discussions between the members or much more than announcements from the Speaker. However, as she had been trained her entire life to understand, body language could be just as loud as actual words. Posture. Maintaining eye contact. Using one's hands to make a point but not so much as to distract from the message. How attentive the audience seemed to be. Gestures and motions could be just as telling as conversation.<p>

Mary watched the Attorney-General as he spoke and noticed the way he held the attention of everyone present. She saw the way heads nodded with approval. She saw how some would lean forward to listen attentively, while others would scribble on notepads as John Simon made particular points. It seemed there was harmony and understanding here. There was no heckling from the backbenchers. There were no frowns or exasperated sighs or shrugging of shoulders that Mary could see. It seemed that the private member's bill – Matthew's bill – was being received positively so far.

Mary looked to her left, down below her to the separate gallery where her husband sat. She stared at him for a brief moment, and Matthew did not turn to meet her gaze. He was so engrossed in what was unfolding that he was leaning over against the banister. She could see his gaze dart across the chamber, likely trying to observe the reactions of the members as much as Mary was.

Mary allowed herself to smile as the proceedings continued. She was guardedly optimistic when she had left Edith and Sybil earlier on the excuse that she was meeting Lady Cunard for tea. She was anonymous and ignored as she slipped into Westminster Palace. This wasn't a place for women, though Sybil would surely have disagreed. She wanted to be next to Matthew, to ask him questions, to be assured that things were truly going well for them. But being forced to sit apart allowed her to remove herself a bit, and guard her expectations. This was only the first hurdle, and even a successful result would be no cause for celebration.

Mary gripped the handle of her purse. She had smuggled her wedding ring and engagement ring with her to London, and had even worn them in bed last night for luck. How easy it would have been to slip them on, here in the House of Commons, where everyone was an elected official, sent here to represent the people, a room free of the patronage and aristocrats of the House of Lords. She even imagined receiving compliments from strangers if they caught sight of her rings. How fun it would be to be able to talk about them, about her marriage, to normal people who could not hurt her or expose her secret.

'_That diamond is lovely.'_

'_Thank you. It's a family heirloom actually. It was my husband's grandmother's ring.'_

Mary was shocked when Matthew had presented her with her betrothal ring. She was somewhat ashamed to have been surprised because it was so beautiful and looked quite expensive. When he told her that it was in fact Isobel's mother's ring, she felt worse. It seemed so valuable and to carry so much family history that to entrust it to her seemed wrong. Both Isobel and Dr. Crawley had quickly quashed those reservations.

Her mind wandered to thoughts of her father-in-law. What a sight she would be to him now. Sitting in Parliament as his son took a significant step to carry out the man's wishes. Dr. Crawley would see her presence as a victory in and of itself, a bold move, a lady walking into the chambers of government to fight for what was hers.

Inevitably Mary thought of her own Papa as well. In Manchester, she often would compare Dr. Crawley to Lord Grantham, taking no small amount of satisfaction that Matthew's father was a far better man. Lately though, she didn't think it was worth it to hold the two men in comparison. Robert Crawley would be incensed if he knew what she and Matthew were up to, and would surely see her role in this as being yet another betrayal. Mary felt more regret than anger on the subject of her father these days. He was off fighting in the War, and so it seemed petty to think of him with spite or rage. When Mary was younger, she felt she could actually talk to her Papa. He would listen to her, even if he didn't agree with what she wanted, he would listen. Now she did not trust him even enough to have any conversation beyond the most mundane of topics.

Mary's daydreaming was interrupted by the eerie quiet that took over the chamber. She noticed that John Simon had sat down, and all attention was turned to the front of the House. The Speaker rose, holding a paper in front of him.

"The Question is that the Bill proposed by the Member for Walhamstow, the Attorney-General, an Act to abolish the entail with respect to the Grantham Estate, is politically and legally important and gives rise to issues of public policy that are likely to be of interest to the House, and ought to be accepted and passed," the Speaker announced in a formal tone.

Mary swallowed and held her purse tighter.

"As many as are of that opinion, say 'Aye'," the Speaker called.

A chorus of 'Aye' rang out, mainly from the members seated near John Simon, and carried over to the other side of the chamber. Mary blinked. It sounded like a lot of people had responded, but she couldn't be sure.

"And of the contrary, 'No'," the Speaker continued.

A scattering of 'No' answered the Speaker's question. Mary held her breath. The 'Aye's' seemed to be louder as far as she could tell. She held her breath, staring at the Speaker.

"I think the Ayes have it," the Speaker declared.

There was silence for several moments. John Simon looked around the room. Matthew did as well. They were checking to see if anyone would object to the Speaker's ruling on the vote.

When no one responded, the Speaker sat back down. A gowned attendant rose and began reciting a summary of the Bill and the result of the vote. Some of the members rose and started moving towards the doors. Others began conversing quietly with their neighbours. Mary looked around, wondering if their part of the day was over.

She looked down and saw Matthew had stood and was waiting for his row to clear so he could leave. They had decided to leave Westminster separately and meet back at Painswick House for dinner. Mary couldn't spend the entire day away as she was supposed to be assisting Edith with her trousseau. Though she had heard the Speaker's pronouncement, Mary was still not entirely sure what had happened. But as Matthew began walking out, he chanced a glance up at her. Their eyes met for an instant before he looked back down, but in that moment, Mary's heart soared.

He smiled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>House of Lords, Palace of Westminster, London, England, March 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew slowly took his seat in the gallery. The morning had been spent meeting with various Lords to confirm their support, and speaking to those who were still undecided or refusing to tell him what they were thinking. He'd cajoled, joked, empathized, lobbied and on a few occasions even threatened. There was always a moment of nervous tension when he thought perhaps he was going too far or had said too much, but he bravely went on. He couldn't leave anything to chance if he could help it.<p>

He wasn't one to dwell too much on signs or superstitions, but there were some possible augurs that could be seen to be in his favour. First, Robert still was not back and so he would not be here for the debate or the vote. Matthew knew that an irate Lord Grantham could muster the opposition quite effectively, and so long as Robert was still safe, Matthew was glad for his absence. In addition, Lord Merton was nowhere to be seen. Matthew did not particularly enjoy interacting with the man, even during small encounters during the Season, and he surely did not want to see him now. The opportunist would probably vote against the proposal if he could, just to say that he was defending Arthur Crawley's vision to the end.

Matthew turned slightly and saw Mary sitting in the back row. Unlike the House of Commons, they were allowed to sit in the same gallery in the House of Lords. He desperately wanted her to sit next to him, but they decided that she shouldn't. Matthew turned back to the chamber and watched as the Lords slowly filtered in, some pausing to speak to their fellows, while others took their seats quickly. Everything about this day was strange and ironic. He and Mary were here, in the very seat of the power of the British gentry, seeking to strike a blow against them and their way of life. The very Lords who would condemn and berate Mary at parties and in Society gatherings, could now unwittingly be the means of her deliverance. Everything was possible if they won. If they were turned away, their crusade would effectively be over.

And so Matthew did not look at the walls decorated in solemn hues of gold and crimson, with lofty stained-glass windows depicting the past Kings and Queens of England. It was irrelevant to his quest. Matthew adjusted the blue cufflinks on his suit; each one had tiny diamonds to represent fireworks. Dr. Crawley had them commissioned by a jeweller after Matthew's mother had accepted his proposal. As Matthew touched them with fond reverence, a reminder that his father was still with him in spirit. He imagined commissioning another pair of cufflinks if his bill passed the final hurdle. He would choose Mary's birthstone for the gems.

The numbers were difficult to read. Matthew had secured votes for about a third of the House; no small feat in and of itself. Another third were likely to oppose the bill on principle alone, or out of some complex that the bill was a threat to them, even though it only dealt with the Grantham Estate. It was how the final third of the Lords would vote that would decide their fate. Some of the Lords weren't present, such as Robert, meaning fewer votes were needed for success. Matthew was hoping for indifference and ignorance on the part of some others, anything to have them simply acquiesce to the bill having already passed the House of Commons.

The bill was introduced and read. Matthew thought he saw some of the Lords react passively, as if bored, or even asleep. He braced himself for the debate.

"The proposed bill seeks to quash the entail as currently drafted, calling into question two clauses in particular – first the requirement that for the Earl of Grantham to inherit the Estate, he must work in partnership with his next heir, and second the restriction that the Earl of Grantham who inherits the Estate may only take a wife of purity to be his Countess. The entail ties the Estate to the title of the Earl of Grantham, subject to conditions, and it is on this basis that the entail is being called into question. Additional public policy arguments include that the Estate is in currently in jeopardy due to the current Earl serving abroad in military service and his heir being an unwed bachelor. There is therefore the potential that in the unfortunate event of the current Earl's death, the next Earl of Grantham would have no heir as at the time of his ascension. Further, should the current heir be called to military duty, there is the potential for the title to be vacated should both perish."

Following the summary of the bill before them, several Lords turned and talked to each other. They were unreadable in both their hushed tones and reserved mannerisms.

Theophilus Howard, the elderly Earl of Suffolk stood to speak.

"I note that Lord Grantham is not here to vote on a bill that affects his Estate. I shall be voting against the bill on this basis alone. This House is not constituted to guess or assume the intentions of the past Earls of Grantham, or infer consent from the current one."

Matthew's stomach turned.

Seemingly on cue, Algernon Percy, Earl of Northumberland, rose once Lord Suffolk had sat down. "I am voting in favour of the bill. The conditions imposed by the entail are both superfluous and irrelevant. This House has no interest in how one family chooses to conduct its affairs, or who an Earl chooses to marry. This House does, however, have a vested interest in protecting the individual rights of a landowner to control his own fate and that of his family. This entail, as currently drafted, infringes upon the rights of men who have not yet been born, and we cannot allow that to continue. Clearly this entail was drafted and followed without any oversight whatsoever. It is now before us, and it is our duty to end it so that the Grantham family may proceed properly as the law allows, rather than follow the proclamations of an ancestor."

Matthew was glad for the Earl's intervention, though he did not see many in the chamber appear convinced either way.

So it went, with voices raised in support and opposition. Most wondered why it was important to discuss this issue at this precise time. Others were surprised the bill had even passed the House of Commons. There was a current of ambivalence and disinterest. No one particularly cared about the Grantham Estate, but whether that steered them towards passing the bill because it ultimately didn't matter to them, or voting against it to maintain the status quo, Matthew couldn't tell.

The Lord Speaker finally rose and debate ended. Matthew leaned forward in his seat. With young men dying across Europe, he felt that prayer wasn't appropriate under the circumstances. Surely God was busy with far more important matters than whether Matthew could openly declare Mary as his wife? Instead he clasped his hands together as though he were watching a derby match between United and City. He never prayed then either, only watched with steely determination, hoping his concentration could will the result he wanted. He muttered 'come on' and 'please' under his breath, then swallowed and remained quiet as the Lord Speaker spoke.

"The Question is that the private member's bill passed by the House of Commons with respect to a proposed Act to abolish the entail affecting the Grantham Estate, is politically and legally important and gives rise to issues of public policy that are likely to be of interest to the House, and ought to be accepted and passed," the Lord Speaker called.

Matthew pushed his tongue against his teeth.

"As many as are of that opinion, say 'Content'," the Speaker called.

Numerous Lords called out 'Content'. Matthew could see immediately that it was not nearly as strong or loud as it had been in the Commons, but the House of Lords was smaller and there were fewer Lords. It was not necessarily a bad sign.

"And of the contrary, 'Not-content'," the Lord Speaker continued.

Numerous Lords called out 'Not-content'. They were spoken in a dull, careless voice. Some of the Lords had probably already forgotten what they were debating.

But the objections sounded loud to Matthew's ears.

"I think the Not-contents have it," the Lord Speaker declared.

Matthew flinched.

"I object to the Lord Speaker's determination," Lord Eldwidge called.

"Very well. We shall count the votes. The Contents to the left of the Throne. The Not-contents to the left by the Bar, please," the Lord Speaker requested.

The Lords rose from their seats and moved to their designated sides. As they organized themselves, Matthew tried to mentally count what his eyes could see, but it was difficult with the men moving about and his heart pounding so fiercely in his chest.

The attendants moved swiftly among the Lords and counted the votes on each side.

The Lord Speaker declared the result.

The Lords all went back to their seats.

Matthew turned around and looked frantically for Mary.

She was already gone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Office of the Attorney-General, Palace of Westminster, London, England, March 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Glenfidditch single malt," John announced, sliding a glass across the desk to Matthew. "Aged 21 years. They should call it ambrosia."<p>

"I may need the rest of the bottle," Matthew said, staring at the dark liquid before downing it in one gulp.

"Fuck," he snarled, before pushing the empty glass back to John.

"I know you're beyond disappointed now, but we can try again, perhaps next year," John said as he savoured his own drink more properly. "In the end, you lost by six votes. That's remarkable, really."

Matthew nodded, staring blankly at the table. He didn't feel up to explaining to John all of the reasons why there would be no second attempt.

"Thank you for all of your help," Matthew said, rising from his chair somewhat shakily. "I'm sorry if this will reflect poorly on you at all."

"I see it as a first salvo," John replied. "I have some plans of my own in this area, and you've helped me shake things up a bit. I'm sorry it didn't go your way this time."

Matthew nodded and turned for the door.

"Matthew," John called. "I don't think that you should wallow over this. And certainly you shouldn't be alone for the next while."

"Thank you for your concern," Matthew said, pausing at the door. "Don't worry. I won't be."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Berkeley Hotel, Knightsbridge, London, England, March 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>It had started to rain just when Matthew had left Parliament and he thought it a fitting homage to go along with his sullied mood. Fate, it would seem, had a wicked sense of humour as it was sunny and bright when Matthew arrived at Parliament mere hours earlier. He ignored the passing taxis and walked instead. He went through St. James Park, then crossed over past Buckingham Palace and Green Park. The rain continued, but he didn't feel it. His hair was wet and his coat was damp, but it didn't matter. The doorman at the hotel frowned at him as he approached, suspicious as to whether he was a guest or not. Matthew didn't care. He felt even worse than he looked.<p>

The room was dark when he went in. He threw the key on a table and had the sense to at least remove his wet coat, his suit jacket, shoes and socks before falling on to the sofa. He stared at the carpet, visions of the celebration he had planned for this moment gone before he'd even stepped outside Westminster.

He felt a towel over his head and soft hands. He let out a long breath as she dried his hair and massaged his scalp. He didn't turn or move as she came around and sat down next to him, her warm hand closing around his cold one and settling on his thigh.

"Yours hands are cold. You should have taken a taxi," Mary said lightly. "You don't want to fall ill."

"I didn't even think of it," Matthew replied. "Yet another failure of mine on a day full of them."

"You didn't fail," Mary said firmly, bringing his hand up and kissing his fingers. "If anything, the Lords failed you."

"And I failed you," Matthew said, finally turning to look at her. "Matthew Crawley, brilliant legal mind and sophisticated heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham, brings a bill to the House of Lords that is deemed not worth the paper it's written on. You must admit it's rather funny in a tragic sort of way."

"The only thing that I'm prepared to admit is that my husband fought for me until the very end," Mary smiled. "And for that, I'm grateful."

"God, Mary, I'm so sorry. So very sorry," Matthew said, closing his eyes.

"Don't be," Mary said kindly. "Be my husband, because that is who you are."

Matthew opened his eyes and watched as she rose from the sofa, taking his hand with her.

He rose slowly and followed her through to the bedroom. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing a robe, the silk of a nightgown showing through the gap at her neck. The sight of her beautiful form made Matthew feel even worse. He had such plans for them today. Making love to Mary with the entail smashed would feel incredible, he was sure of it. Now, seeing how she had still gamely changed her clothes for him despite his devastating loss pained him.

Mary retrieved two champagne flutes from the side table. Holding them in one hand, she brought picked up the champagne bottle from the ice bucket and brought it to him.

"This was supposed to be for celebrating," Matthew mumbled bitterly.

"And so it shall be," Mary smirked, holding up the glasses. "Open it."

Matthew twisted the wrapping and removed the cork with a loud pop. He filled the two flutes and put the bottle back in the bucket. He grudgingly took one champagne flute from Mary and raised it when she quirked her eyebrow at him.

"What could we possibly have to celebrate?" Matthew asked.

"That we're married," Mary said, leaning up and kissing him softly.

"That we're together," she continued, kissing him again.

"That my husband is the bravest and most selfless man I know," she added with another kiss.

"That we have our health, an Estate that is slowly improving thanks to your intervention, and that we have each other, through anything, through everything, for always," Mary declared.

She clinked his glass with hers and Matthew reluctantly took a sip.

"Maybe if I had been more convincing," Matthew said. "Maybe if I had spent more time trying to lobby some of the Lords."

"Mmm, maybe, but I doubt it," Mary smiled, unbuttoning his shirt.

"I could have done a better job drafting the bill," Matthew said as she undid his cuff links and took care to place them on the nightstand. "Perhaps it was too confusing for some of them."

"There was nothing wrong with your writing, I am sure," Mary said, pushing the shirt off his arms.

"There must have been something I could have done better," Matthew frowned.

Mary undid his belt and pushed his trousers down his legs.

"Darling," she smiled at him. "What's done is done. I'm just as upset and frustrated as you are, but we're both very tired, and our train doesn't leave until this evening. So for right now, you can come to bed and hold me, and we can sleep, and even though nothing will have changed when we wake up, the world can wait for a while."

She led him to the bed. When he reached it, he untied the sash of her robe and she shrugged out of it. He kissed her softly, then helped her under the blankets, curling behind her and allowing himself to relax as she snuggled back against him.

"I love you, Mary," he whispered, kissing her hair.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew stood stoically in line with the rest of the family and the servants. A dust cloud gathered in the distance as the motor appeared, easing up the driveway. He wondered if anyone else felt the same mixed emotions that he did – relief that Robert was alive and well, and trepidation of what would unfold during his leave.<p>

Branson brought the car to a stop and Robert emerged in his red formal military attire. He smiled at the gathering and exuded authority as he greeted the Dowager Countess and Cora before sparing a word for Carson and Mrs. Hughes. He offered only a curt nod to Matthew and the girls, then led the procession into the house.

Dinner was sufficiently lavish to suit the occasion. The menu consisted of Robert's favourite dishes, and everyone ceded to him, allowing him to dictate the conversation. Mary did not say a word the entire meal, and every tale and comment was met by appreciative nods and smiles from Cora and Violet. Matthew added a word here and there, but he was already nervous about the conversation to follow. When Cora finally led the ladies through, Matthew kept staring at his napkin, waiting for Robert to begin the interrogation.

"Carson," Robert said eagerly. "Do we still have some reserve Port from Antwerp? I've got such a taste for that particular vintage right now."

"Yes sir," Carson answered immediately. "I decanted it myself, expecting your request sir. I hope that wasn't too presumptuous on my behalf."

"Not at all," Robert responded with a disarming smile. "I count on such fitting treatment. Please bring it here at once."

The requested spirit was soon brought and served, and Carson retired at Robert's command. After taking a long drink, Robert finally addressed Matthew.

"I'll let you explain yourself before I tell you what I think," he said evenly. "I have my suspicions regarding your motivations, and so does Murray and some of my peers, for that matter. But I want to hear from you first."

Matthew took a deep breath. He had to be careful. Whether he liked it or not, he was bound to Downton Abbey for the foreseeable future, though no one could predict much beyond the coming months. No matter how much he might want to, Mary would not allow them to leave now, and so he needed Robert on his side.

"I'm embarrassed to admit this to you, after all you've done for me," Matthew began. "But it came down to I was scared."

"Go on," Robert nodded.

"I didn't expect you to be gone for so long, and for the War to last well past Christmas. I couldn't shake the sobering thought of what might happen if you…if something happened to you out there. I don't think that our predecessors contemplated a scenario such as the one we find ourselves in now. I wanted to remove all of the restrictions that apply to us, so that I wouldn't be held back and the Estate wouldn't be at risk if the worst were to unfold," Matthew explained.

Robert regarded him for a long moment, saying nothing.

"I'm sorry if I've disappointed you," Matthew said, looking down. "I'm really not very good at working with others. It's been quite a shock having to take responsibility while you've been gone, and I suppose I didn't want to be questioned if it were just me."

Robert nodded. "Once I would have been furious with you. If I've taught you anything it's to respect our family history and what brought us here. We've only experienced hardship when someone has tried to break out from the structure that has guided us for centuries."

Matthew nodded, keeping quiet and not voicing the numerous objections to Robert's steadfast clinging to the past.

"On the other hand, your modern changes have resulted in a windfall for us thus far, so I can't in all fairness berate you for seizing the initiative in one aspect, and commend you for taking charge in another," Robert said.

"Thank you," Matthew said carefully.

"Whatever your reasons for disliking the entail, know that I share the same sentiment. Remember that it was my father who imposed the requirement that the Earl work with his heir. You can imagine my resentment that I was ordered to work hand-in-hand with James, a man who could not even tell you how many bedrooms we have in the house, let alone a proper history of our line," Robert shook his head ruefully.

"Having said that, it still remains the directive that we must follow. I won't dissuade you from continuing to search for ways to improve things around here. But I warn you that you expose yourself to possible ridicule and loss of face in the event you are proven wrong, which is what has happened here. I can't defend your reputation when I'm not here. You'll be the target of numerous jokes this Season, and you've brought that upon yourself," Robert continued.

"I understand," Matthew nodded.

"So long as you do, then carry on. I do give you credit for owning up to this and writing to me to let me know in advance, rather than hiding it until I came back on leave. As for your fears about the future, perhaps you need a wife to occupy your time."

"Perhaps," Matthew said tightly.

"You aren't wrong to fear the future, though I forbid you to discuss such things with Cora and the girls," Robert said frankly. "It is a mess out there. This war is nothing like South Africa and what I experienced during the Boer conflict. The soldiers under my command are too young and our enemy is too experienced. When I receive orders, they are often a jumbled mess which I can barely follow. Nothing is going as it should. Morale is tenuous and we're having to put up with strange contraptions at every turn. Giant mechanical tanks; chemical gasses; the things I've seen are straight out of a horror novel. With my next deployment to the Dardanelles Straights on the peninsula of Gallipoli in Turkey, the world will truly see the East and West come to blows. And it will be very strange for me, I once stood on the Aegean Sea with Cora on our honeymoon…"

Matthew regarded Robert cautiously. This was the first time that he sensed despair in the Earl's voice.

"We're praying for you, Robert," Matthew said.

"Good," Robert nodded. "Carry on with that."

The Earl of Grantham finished his drink and rose from the table. Matthew followed his lead.

"I'm going to go straight up. It's been a long journey back," Robert said distractedly. "Please tell Cora and the girls. I'll see you tomorrow, Matthew."

"Good night, Robert," Matthew said, frowning as he watched the Earl wearily move out of the dining room and towards the Great Hall.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, June 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"It's a pity that Lord Grantham remains at War," Lady Sarah Kensington sighed dramatically, looking at Matthew. "The Season is not the same without him."<p>

"I expect that he misses the Season even more than you miss him being here," Matthew replied, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Lady Sarah had practically attached herself to him from the moment she arrived, and with Mary standing with Edith and Sir Anthony, he could find no reprieve.

"I am ever so pleased for Lady Edith," Lady Sarah smiled, following Matthew's gaze and assuming that he was looking at his cousin. "Sir Anthony is rather old, but good for her just the same."

"We're all quite pleased. Sir Anthony is a good man, and a fine addition to our family," Matthew replied.

"A fall wedding is a brilliant idea," Lady Sarah continued. "Sir Anthony could end up owing Edith his life."

"How so?" Matthew frowned. He desperately wanted to ignore Lady Sarah entirely, but he could not help being curious when she said something that made no sense to him.

"Papa has been in meetings throughout the week," Lady Sarah said easily. "The government is preparing a new law to compel men into the Army. Married men shall be spared, so Sir Anthony won't be called to War, thanks to Lady Edith."

"I was not aware of such a measure," Matthew said. "It's bound to be unpopular."

"The government has no choice, Matthew," Lady Sarah replied. "It's a bit of a last resort, but if their current drive does not prove successful, they'll need to take more steps. Papa says that we don't currently have the numbers to rival our allies, let alone the Huns."

"I see," Matthew muttered, weighing this information.

"There's no need for you to worry," Lady Sarah smiled as she lowered her voice. "I can help keep you safe, in the same way that Lady Edith has helped Sir Anthony."

Matthew's eyes widened as he repeated her words in his mind.

"Lady Sarah, I don't believe that…" Matthew hesitated.

"It's not something to be concerned about," Lady Sarah nodded. "We both know that it's possible you could take me as your wife eventually anyway. I would be honoured in either scenario, and I am fully prepared to wait until you deem our time has come. However, the government's ineptness is sadly affecting our timetable."

Matthew swallowed. "Marriage is a long business, Lady Sarah. We've only just met last year…"

"I understand your implication, Matthew," Lady Sarah nodded. "But your well being is of utmost importance to me. I don't want the Army to abduct you when I could easily save you by playing my part."

"As my wife," Matthew said.

"Yes," Lady Sarah smiled. "And if you're concerned about how…compatible…we would be together, I am more than willing to appease your concerns in that regard. Though the rules of courtship are problematic for that purpose, there are ways for us to truly know each other, so long as we are discreet."

Matthew frowned.

"If I may be so bold, Matthew," Lady Sarah whispered. "I shall devote myself to satisfying you and convincing you that our marriage would be entirely enjoyable."

"Lady Sarah, I thank you for providing me with this insight into the government's possible plans. I shall need to investigate this further. As for your offer, I shall have to politely decline. I cannot place my own safety ahead of the Earldom, and I cannot take a wife simply to avoid going to War."

Lady Sarah's eyes narrowed at Matthew's rejection.

"I wish you a good evening, Lady Sarah. I need to speak to my cousins," Matthew nodded to her, before turning and walking away.

"I need to speak to you. Tonight," Matthew said, looking away from Mary as they stood off to the side. Edith and Sir Anthony were surrounded by well wishers, allowing Mary and Matthew to slip away a bit.

"I'll come to you," Mary nodded slightly. "What is this regarding?"

"Regarding the fact that we've run out of time and we'll need to act quickly," Matthew said.

"Run out of time for what?" Mary questioned.

But Matthew had already walked away.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, June 1915**_

* * *

><p>"Do you trust her?" Matthew asked quietly, staring into the fire.<p>

"Not for a moment," Mary replied, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and leaning against his back. "But Lord Sunderland has been in Parliament even longer than Papa and is on numerous committees. It would not be beyond Lady Sarah to use what she's overheard for her own purposes. I think we need to plan as though she's told you the truth."

"I'm not convinced that married men will be spared. It sounds too political," Matthew replied, rubbing his hand over hers. "If a conscription bill is passed, there will be an uproar. John told me he would resign if such a measure went through, and he can't be the only one who feels that way. They may focus only on the single men at first to lessen the blow. If the War doesn't end shortly, they'll have no choice but to call upon everyone else."

"Then our first priority is to protect you, then deal with any further Acts of the government later," Mary said.

"You don't think me a coward for trying to avoid enlisting?" Matthew asked, turning his head and looking at her.

"I think that I want to live a long life with you," Mary replied. "And whether there are war medals on your portrait someday is entirely unimportant to me."

Matthew turned and pulled her close. Their foreheads touched and his hands circled her waist. She ran her fingers lightly up his front, settling on his chest.

"We'll need to choose our moment well," Matthew said. "With Robert gone, we might be able to get away with it without opposition, at least at first. There are steps we need to take so that we'll be ready when the time comes. I don't see the need to make any announcements until there is an actual conscription law that does, in fact, differentiate between single and married men."

"We can always fight my family later," Mary nodded. "So long as we have sufficient evidence to show that you are married and therefore should be spared from entering the Army, we'll have accomplished our goal."

"You looked beautiful tonight," Matthew smiled. "I know that everyone's focus was on Edith, but I was having great difficulty keeping myself composed when I saw you enter the ballroom."

"Truly?" Mary smiled. "Are you saying that your wife looked particularly desirable tonight, Matthew?"

"I had a very strong urge to devour you, love," Matthew smirked, leaning in and kissing her. "I am greatly regretting that there are so many guests staying over this evening, and that these walls are not as thick as at Downton."

"A pity," Mary nodded mischievously. "For I expect you will be quite…loud…"

"Is that a threat?" Matthew teased.

"It's a promise," Mary arched her eyebrow, kissing him playfully. "I think you ought to arrange for us to go to the Berkeley later this week, in the afternoon. I'm going to make you scream, darling."

Matthew groaned in frustration and his forehead fell against her shoulder. "You're going to leave me like this, aren't you?" he complained.

"Well it is rather late," Mary said lightly. "And sadly I don't trust you to be quiet enough to do anything further tonight."

"This is cruel, Mary," Matthew hissed.

"I am not without compassion, darling," Mary smiled. She took his hand in hers and placed a piece of silk across his palm.

"Pleasant dreams, Matthew," she whispered, kissing him again. She turned and quickly left his bedroom.

Matthew swallowed and tried to calm his breathing. He looked down at his hand and realized his wife had left him her brassiere. He exhaled loudly and looked up at the ceiling, before turning and dragging himself to bed, taking the flimsy garment with him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, September 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You've been busy," Cora noted as Matthew handed a stack of envelopes to Carson. The butler nodded and excused himself from the room.<p>

"The reality of running a business, whether it be in the city or the country, is that each day brings with it new challenges," Matthew replied, picking up his sandwich once again.

"I did not think of Downton as a business," Violet laughed incredulously. "Profit was never the overarching goal of the Estate."

"The economy is in shambles, Cousin Violet," Matthew replied once he'd swallowed his food. He took a sip of water before continuing. "What worked decades ago may have been sufficient when prices were low and labour was in large supply. Those days are gone now. Focusing on profit is simply the prudent thing to do, not simply because money is important, but if Downton is not profitable, then there is no objective measure as to whether we are doing things properly or not."

Mary smirked as she ate her salad, choosing to remain on the sidelines of this discussion. She had warned Matthew many times that Downton was not a city business, and that profit was usually not a consideration at all. He stubbornly remained determined to recover the money lost by James and Patrick by being more efficient in everything they did. She knew such an approach would lead to a skirmish, particularly with her Granny, and apparently today was the day for battle to ensue.

"But surely the people who rely upon us are important as well, Cousin Matthew?" Sybil asked quietly. "Beyond their ability to pay rent or make money for the family?"

"Of course, Sybil," Matthew nodded, smiling at her in understanding. "But it's my responsibility to ensure that we can continue to support all who count upon us. Everything has a cost. Cousin Violet's house. Your Mama's Season parties. Edith's wedding. These things simply do not pay for themselves because we happen to be nice landlords."

"We were not aware that you were so ruthless, Cousin Matthew," Violet huffed.

"I prefer being well prepared, Cousin Violet," Matthew nodded. "I am sorry if my plans are shocking to you. It is not my intention to be disrespectful in the least. You'll find that the families that we have moved to cottages are quite happy with their new lives. You'll also find that Downton has never been more efficient or generated more money in its vaunted history. Being adept at husbandry and effective at making money does not equate to being mean. I'm not looking for accolades, or even your approval. It's enough for me that our family's future is thus far secure, and hopefully one day you'll grudgingly acknowledge that I did right by this family."

Violet harrumphed and resumed eating. Sybil exchanged a knowing smile with Mary.

"Mr. Crawley!" Carson called, coming quickly back into the dining room. "A telegram for you, sir!"

Cora's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. Everyone stared as Matthew took the yellow paper from Carson and tore it open. He frowned as he read the message.

"Robert's been injured," Matthew said tightly.

Cora gasped.

"He's alive, but he's been seriously hurt. He's being sent back here now and he should be arriving in two days' time," Matthew finished, handing the telegram to Cora to read.

"We should contact Clarkson and have him prepare a bed for Papa at the hospital," Edith said shakily.

"No," Matthew shook his head.

Everyone stared at him in confusion.

"Carson, send Branson to Crawley House to collect my mother immediately. She needs to be informed so that she can supervise the preparations. Mary, please call Clarkson and let him know that Lord Grantham is returning and we will be receiving him here, at his home, in his own bed. Edith, you can coordinate with Cousin Violet and my mother to ready his room. Whatever equipment or apparatus and supplies that we may require should be brought here from the hospital. Whatever condition Robert arrives in, I want him to be in a familiar place, not in some hospital bed," Matthew ordered.

"Yes, Mr. Crawley," Carson nodded, and turned to carry out his instructions.

Mary and Edith both rose from the table to attend to their tasks.

"Sybil, go with Edith, please," Matthew said.

Sybil nodded, looking at him gratefully before rising and following her sisters out of the room.

* * *

><p>Robert blinked several times. He shook his head, a sharp pain causing him to rub his temple. He took a deep breath, then adjusted his eyes to the low light of the room. He slowly realized he was back at Downton Abbey, in his bedroom.<p>

"You gave us all quite a fright," Matthew said quietly, leaning over from the chair at Robert's bedside.

"Matthew," Robert smiled, closing his eyes briefly. "I thought I'd wake up in some sterile room at a hospital somewhere."

"You would have, most likely, but I wanted you brought here. Clarkson wasn't pleased, but he'll visit you each day and mother and Cousin Cora will be your nurses. You're all right. I'm told that the shrapnel just missed some of your major arteries. As it is, you've got broken ribs and an almost collapsed lung. You're to stay in bed for several days," Matthew said.

"That all sounds like a vacation compared to where I'm coming from," Robert smiled.

"Rest now," Matthew nodded. "I'll go and fetch Cousin Cora."

"Wait," Robert said, wincing as he raised his hand to stop Matthew from leaving. "I need to talk to you before the family comes in and my head becomes even more jumbled. I expect they filled me full of drugs to get me back to England."

"Painkillers and sedatives, yes," Matthew said.

"I've never seen such horrible conditions. It was worse than Hell itself over there, Matthew. We ate and slept metres away from rotting corpses. Most of the lads had some illness, it was deplorable," Robert sighed. "We were running up hills of sand half the time. We could have saved the Turks the trouble and just shot ourselves for all the good our attacks did. It was a disaster from the beginning, but every time a withdrawal was raised, that bloody fool Hamilton would refuse."

"Some of it leaked out through the newspapers," Matthew nodded. "I kept the news away from the family as best I could, but everyone was quite concerned for you."

"I thought I was going to die over there," Robert mumbled, looking at Matthew with weary eyes. "We would have to curl up in the trenches waiting out the artillery bombardments for what seemed like hours. I hoped that this damn War would have turned to our side by now, but it seems it hasn't."

"You don't need to worry about that," Matthew said. "You're home. You're safe. Just focus on getting better."

"I want you to ensure the settlements for Cora and the girls are sufficient, Matthew," Robert said firmly. "They all need to be taken care of, including Mary. I haven't looked at the papers in quite some time. Make sure the amounts are reasonable, and held in safe investments. Move them around if you have to."

Matthew frowned in surprise. "As you wish," he nodded. "But you can make those same arrangements yourself once you're feeling better. The money isn't going anywhere."

"Once I'm recovered enough, they'll call for me again," Robert said listlessly. "Our ranks are thin, Matthew. They need every man they can throw at the Germans. France needs reinforcements. Bulgaria is expected to enter the fray for the other side. I've been lucky so far. I don't know how lucky I'll be when I go back."

"Robert…" Matthew interjected.

"All that matters now is that you and the family are secure, Matthew," Robert continued. "You know enough to keep things going adequately. Edith will be married soon, which is very good. As for Sybil and Mary, who knows what the future holds. I want them all to be provided for should the worst come."

"I thought you were content to leave Mary on her own?" Matthew asked carefully.

Robert sighed heavily.

"I used to think that way, yes. I was convinced that Mary did not deserve anything from us. I only agreed to let her stay at Downton on your recommendation. But I don't want her to suffer, Matthew. She won't believe me, of course. We've been at odds for too long for any reconciliation now. I don't even know where I would begin to have a proper conversation with her. But she is my daughter. No matter what she's done, no matter what I've done, I need to leave her something. What becomes of her after that is out of my hands. However I need you to carry out my wishes and ensure that she won't be abandoned."

"I'll see it done," Matthew nodded.

Robert took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Matthew rose from his chair and left the room, going down the hall to summon Cora.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"How was your ride, sir?" Carson asked as Matthew and Sybil came into the Great Hall.<p>

"Invigorating, Carson, thank you," Matthew nodded. "Lady Sybil has now joined the long list of people who are able to trounce me in a proper race."

Sybil laughed as she removed her gloves. "It was a lucky stroke, is all," she said. "You were quite close, Cousin Matthew."

"And you have learned the fine art of boosting a man's ego by lying," Matthew replied. "I envy your future husband. He couldn't possibly hope to be as clever as you."

"Thank you, Cousin Matthew," Sybil blushed.

"Sir, His Lordship has asked for you. He's in the library," Carson said.

"I'll go and change first if it doesn't trouble His Lordship," Matthew said. "Did he mention if it was urgent?"

"It wasn't, sir," Carson nodded. "I'll advise His Lordship that you will be down shortly."

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew nodded.

Matthew escorted Sybil upstairs. She thanked him again for the ride and went off to her room. Matthew turned for the Bachelor's Wing. He smiled when he reached his bedroom and quickly went in and closed the door behind him, locking it deftly.

"You're making Sybil see stars again by going out riding with her," Mary chided him lightly, getting up from the chair and coming over to him. "She'll be floating for the rest of the day."

"Well I invited you and you turned me down. Sybil has far too much in her favour to bother thinking of me in any fashion, let alone the one you are suggesting," Matthew retorted. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest as he approached her. He gave her a quick kiss and turned towards his dressing room. "I trust no one saw you come over?"

"No, the house has been rather empty," Mary said. "Edith is at Locksley Hall with Mama and Granny. With the servants occupied with preparing for dinner, I knew the upstairs would be pleasantly deserted."

"Well, sadly our best laid plans have been derailed. Your Papa wants to speak to me in the library," Matthew informed her. "I'm going to take a quick bath and change first."

"As decadent as it sounds, there was never going to be an opportunity for us to bathe together in the middle of the day, Matthew," Mary rolled her eyes. "I only came to wait for you to check on your progress on the other thing."

"We're ready, I believe," Matthew said, removing his jacket and vest and leaving them in the dressing room for Bates to deal with. "I spoke with John yesterday and he says that there will be a voluntary registration Act introduced next week by the Earl of Derby. If the response is sufficient, then conscription will be put off, but he's not optimistic. Even accounting for protests and debates, there could be a new bill as soon as early next year."

"If the numbers are as bad as has been rumoured, a voluntary scheme won't do any good," Mary shook her head.

"I agree," Matthew nodded, removing his shirt. "We must expect the worst, sadly. It isn't even the prospect of conscription that bothers me as much as it is that all signs point to the War not ending anytime soon."

"Perhaps that's what Papa wants to speak to you about," Mary said. "He would have heard the same information you would have from his peers."

"Possibly," Matthew nodded. "Though I suspect he's more concerned about his own future. He's not quite healed up yet, but he's back on his feet, which means inquiries will be made about his recovery and his expected return."

"Haven't they asked enough of him?" Mary sighed. "He's in no fit state to fight again so soon."

"I don't know," Matthew said grimly. "I'm with you. I hope he isn't called back so quickly."

Mary smiled as she came over to him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed his back.

"Do you know the first time that I saw you in such a state of…exertion?" she asked lightly.

Matthew smiled. "Are you referring to that football match when I played on the side of the doctors against the hospital staff?"

"The same," Mary smiled, kissing his neck.

"I was shocked to see you watching from the sidelines," Matthew smiled. "I debated trying to avoid you, but you'd already seen me. I was mortified that you'd find me unwashed and repulsive."

"Years ago I would have," Mary nodded. "But there was something about seeing you…perspire…that I found rather intriguing."

"Truly?" Matthew exclaimed in surprise.

"Mmm," Mary nodded. "To my shock, I have become quite used to your…scent."

Matthew swallowed. "You're doing this on purpose because you know we don't have enough time for…that."

"Perhaps," Mary laughed. "Though that doesn't change the fact that I do enjoy seeing you sweat."

Matthew gasped as Mary left him and disappeared out the door. He shook his head ruefully as he finished undressing, took his robe and headed off to the bathroom.

* * *

><p>"My apologies for keeping you waiting," Matthew said as he entered the library. "You'll be pleased to know that Sybil has become a rather accomplished rider."<p>

"That's good," Robert nodded, smiling from his place on the sofa. "Even with uncertainty all around us, some traditions live on, and so they should."

Matthew poured two glasses of scotch and brought them over to Robert, handing the Earl one and sitting down on the chair opposite the sofa.

"What do you know of conscription, Matthew?" Robert asked.

"It's a sore subject at the moment, but a pressing one," Matthew nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "I understand that Churchill was asking for it since last summer, but the sad reality is that it is coming closer and closer to being a reality."

"Don't mention Churchill in my presence," Robert scoffed. "The man's only skill is in criticizing others without offering any useful alternatives of his own. The Earl of Derby is going to introduce a bill shortly to encourage more men to enlist. I'm not optimistic about it. Conscription would be the next step, and it will be a battle to push it through."

"I never imagined that it would come to that just last year," Matthew shook his head.

"None of us imagined that we would be where we are today, truly," Robert agreed. "But, should it come to pass, we must take steps to ensure that you are protected, Matthew."

"I feel useless," Matthew said, running his hand through his hair. "As though I'm cowering in a corner while you and others go to fight."

"Do not envy me, Matthew," Robert said sadly. "If you only saw the reality at the Front, you wouldn't ascribe any glory to it. It's an exercise in survival. Winning is so far removed from one's thoughts over there."

"What would you have me do?" Matthew asked.

"I know what I am about to say is not what you would have envisioned for yourself. You're a romantic, and I do not say that with any trace of ridicule. There is a faction in the Upper House that will insist on exceptions to any conscription bill that is passed to us for review. The principal exception will be for married men. I don't know how long that stipulation can stand, given the true losses we are suffering, but the first draft of any Act will apply to unattached men of a certain age only," Robert said.

"Therefore, my age and bachelor status would prove problematic," Matthew said.

"Yes," Robert said. "I know that you haven't seemed overly impressed by the women you've met thus far. Sadly, I do not think you have the luxury of time anymore. I regret this, as I do not want to force you to commit the rest of your life to someone you are not entirely sure about. However, I can assure you that you wouldn't be the first to come about your wife under such circumstances. I can only hope that you are as fortunate as some of us have been in finding a woman who can at least be a proper wife to you."

"The idea does offend my sensibilities," Matthew said. "But I cannot dispute the reasoning."

"Is there anyone that you would be comfortable with, at least?" Robert asked. "With Edith about to marry Sir Anthony and Sybil not particularly suitable for many reasons, I'm sorry to say that there are no prospects within our House."

"I do have someone in mind," Matthew nodded. "It was not my intention to use her in this fashion, and I hesitate to do so even now, but I see your point that I may have no choice."

"The government will poll the gentry to fill the ranks of the officers," Robert said. "You will be called upon sooner rather than later. If you can convince yourself to take this woman that you speak of for your wife, then you have mere months to do so, I would say."

Matthew sighed and finished his drink.

"Understood," he said.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Locksley Hall, Yorkshire, England, November 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"She's absolutely glowing, isn't she?" Sybil smiled, looking on as Edith took her first dance as Lady Strallan, Sir Anthony's wife.<p>

"Edith has accomplished her life's ambition," Mary smirked. "She has a husband, even if he is old, and she has her own house to manage now, even if the place could use quite a bit of work."

"You just can't let her have her moment, can you?" Sybil rolled her eyes.  
>"Oh, don't be so dramatic, darling," Mary said, patting Sybil's arm. "I am happy for Edith, truly. And who can tell the future? Perhaps living under separate roofs will do wonders for our relationship."<p>

"A rare unicorn that would be, you and Edith cordial to each other," Sybil laughed.

As Mary laughed along with her, a young man approached them and bowed respectfully. He extended his hand and asked Sybil to dance. Sybil blinked in surprise, but soon accepted as Mary nudged her in the lad's direction.

"Matchmaking now, are you?" Matthew asked as he appeared at her side.

"It's just a dance," Mary said quietly. "The young man is obviously going back to War imminently. Better that he should have a pleasant memory from this evening, and Sybil could use the practice."

Matthew smiled as they watched Sybil dance with the young soldier. Though she wore a reserved expression, she did seem to be enjoying herself.

"Robert asked me again about my marriage prospects," Matthew whispered.

"He's getting nervous," Mary nodded. "Mama told me that the War Office has called several times and have followed up with Clarkson about Papa's condition. It won't be long now, sadly. He's going to have to go back. Naturally, that makes him think about you and your future."

"I don't think it's right to try and wait until he leaves to do anything," Matthew said. "I know it sounds clichéd, but if he learns about it in a letter, it's bound to be a distraction at a time when he needs to be entirely focused on his own survival."

"I don't want to agree, but I feel that I must," Mary said. "You do understand though that we'll need to reveal everything, and that he won't believe it."

"We don't have much choice in the matter," Matthew said. "Whether he believes us or not, we must act."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Did Branson take Isobel back to Crawley House?" Robert asked as Matthew came into the sitting room.<p>

"He did," Matthew nodded, sitting down on the sofa across from Robert. "Mother is very sorry to see you leave again. She doesn't quite understand why you're being called back."

"She's not alone in that," Robert smiled ruefully. "Mama wants to call our cousin Shrimpy and have me reassigned to a desk job."

"Shrimpy?" Matthew frowned.

"Lord Flintshire to those who don't know him as well as I do. I'll explain the nickname some other time," Robert waved his hand.

"Robert, I need to speak to you about an important matter, and I'm afraid of your reaction," Matthew said carefully.

Robert frowned and looked at him intently. "Is this about the conscription bill and your efforts to get around it?"

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "Though the bill is not yet law, I've heard it's already drafted."

"It's going through various committees now, while others discreetly gauge public opinion on the subject," Robert said. "But the exception for married men will be included, as I told you it would be."

"I didn't want you to be concerned about me, or about any of us, while you are at the Front," Matthew said. "So I want you to hear it from me first – I've made sufficient arrangements."

"I'm pleased," Robert nodded. "Your future is of paramount importance to me, Matthew, as the future of the Earldom and of our family relies upon it."

"Rest assured that I am well aware of the implications of the situation," Matthew said.

"Well then," Robert smiled. "Who, may I ask, will be the future Countess of Grantham?"

They were interrupted as footsteps clicked across the floor of the Great Hall, growing closer. The rest of the family had already retired, and so Robert looked up in surprise as a figure entered the room.

"Mary," Robert frowned. "Please leave us. Matthew and I have important business to discuss in private."

"I only need a moment, Papa," Mary said, walking over to them.

"Anything that you need to discuss with Matthew can surely wait until the morning, Mary," Robert scoffed.

"Actually, I need to speak to you, Papa," Mary declared as she stopped next to Matthew's seat on the sofa.

"Then I am certain that it can wait," Robert shook his head. "Mary, I told you that Matthew and I are in the midst of very important business that concerns the future of…"

Robert stopped suddenly. His eyes widened as he looked at his eldest daughter.

Mary reached out and placed her left hand on Matthew's right shoulder.

A diamond ring and a gold band sparkled on Mary's finger as the orange light of the fire in the hearth flickered off of them.

Robert held his breath as Matthew's hand reached up and covered Mary's.

"What I have to tell you is of crucial importance to the future of the family, Papa," Mary said. "You see, Matthew is safe. He has a wife. Me."

"What treachery is this?" Robert gasped. "Matthew! What deception has she used to bewitch you into doing this? When I told you to consider taking a wife, it should have been clear that Mary was not a possible prospect!"

"I didn't consider Mary as a potential wife for me following our conversation, Robert," Matthew said easily.

"Then what changed?" Robert demanded.

"Nothing changed. We were already married before the threat of conscription arrived, Papa," Mary said.

"Already married?" Robert repeated in confusion. "What? How?"

"Mary and I have been married since December 20, 1911, Robert," Matthew said slowly. "We met in Manchester shortly after her arrival and fell in love. I proposed to her several months later and she graciously accepted me."

"Matthew saved me, Papa. He saw something in me that I did not know existed. I was never lower in my entire life than those first days in Manchester, and since then, I've never been happier," Mary added.

"This is impossible!" Robert shook his head. "Murray investigated you, Matthew! He found no records of any marriage, let alone your marriage to Mary of all people!"

"Murray did his job well. He most likely searched the public records for a marriage license registered to Matthew Crawley," Matthew said. "He would not have discovered a marriage license registered to Matthew Turnbull, one which listed Mary Levinson as his wife."

"Turnbull?" Robert exclaimed.

"My mother's maiden name," Matthew explained. "It's a commonly held misconception that one needs to file papers to change one's name. In fact, anyone in England can change their name whenever they wish, though it can be problematic the longer it goes. We both decided to use our mothers' maiden names to ensure our marriage would remain secret. Once sufficient time had passed, and the rumours about Mary faded from memory, we would file the appropriate deed to change our marriage license to the proper names, and continue our life in Manchester as proper husband and wife. If Murray were to search the public records in Manchester now, he would find that Matthew Crawley and Mary Crawley were married on December 20, 1911, as I sent the deed to Manchester weeks ago."

"The rumours about Mary?" Robert repeated. "So you knew about Mary's scandalous behaviour and you still proposed to her? Well, you weren't aware of the entail at the time, nor did you know that your family was related to ours. I'm sure that Mary gave you a tale of woe to lure you in. Sadly, you will now rue that decision, Matthew."

"I will never have any regrets where Mary is concerned," Matthew said fiercely. "And my eyes were wide open when I proposed to her."

"How can you say that when you know the truth of what she did?" Robert asked. "Are your middle class standards so bereft of integrity that you would have a fallen woman as your wife without concern?"

"Mary isn't a fallen woman. Not in my eyes. And I know the truth of what happened to her, unlike you," Matthew retorted.

"What are you talking about? Are these more lies that Mary has used to coerce you?" Robert asked.

Matthew reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a folded document. He passed it to Robert, who unfolded it.

"Read it," Matthew ordered. "You'll find the contents rather enlightening."

Robert flipped the pages as he read, frowning more deeply with each paragraph.

"James and Patrick fabricated the entire story, Papa," Mary said. "They blackmailed Louis and Thomas to act as witnesses. Neither of them ever heard or saw what you thought they did."

"You expect me to believe, years later, that Mary in fact never had…relations…with the Turkish diplomat?" Robert asked, holding Thomas' affidavit in front of him.

"You didn't believe me when I denied it the morning after," Mary said coldly. "Whether you choose to ignore Thomas' sworn affidavit now is your decision."

"What motive could James and Patrick have had to banish Mary?" Robert asked. "If she did not in fact betray Patrick, then there was no reason to want to send her away."

"They wanted me gone because I was a threat to them," Mary said. "I was a woman with a mind of my own, and they realized not only was I more clever than Patrick, but that I would not simply obey him at every turn."

"They knew that about you since you were a child, Mary," Robert huffed. "What was so special about the Hunt that year to make them concoct this supposed scheme, as you say?"

Matthew squeezed Mary's hand. Mary looked down at him and nodded, closing her eyes.

"James and Patrick impeached Mary's virtue, so that they could claim she was disqualified from being Countess of Grantham. They most likely always had such a plan in mind, as a contingency in case Mary refused to capitulate to Patrick's will. Matters must have accelerated after Patrick caught Mr. Pamuk kissing Mary following dinner the evening of the Hunt. The tale of Mary's indiscretion was invented to cover up what actually happened that night."

"Which was what?" Robert asked suspiciously.

"Patrick came to my bedroom that night, after everyone had retired," Mary said quietly. "The story about Mr. Pamuk was to cover up his own deplorable behaviour."

Robert's mouth fell open once again. He stared at Mary, absorbing her words and their implications.

"Matthew," Robert said shakily. "Regardless of which version of the story that you believe, you've read the entail. You know that Mary cannot be your wife in light of these circumstances. You said it yourself. She doesn't meet the requirements to be Countess of Grantham. She wasn't pure when she married you. If you choose to continue down this road, you will jeopardize the Estate."

"You're wrong, Papa," Mary said bitterly. "You were wrong years ago when you refused to help me, and you're wrong now."  
>Robert looked at her, completely lost.<p>

Mary's face blushed fiercely.

Matthew squeezed her hand in encouragement.

"I only ever gave my virtue to one man, and that was to Matthew, on our wedding night," Mary said firmly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1911<strong>_

* * *

><p>"No more, Mary," Patrick glared at her cruelly. "No more fighting, no more resistance. From now on, you will spread your legs at my command and receive me gratefully, and neither one of us will tell a soul. That way, your virtue will be intact until our wedding day, and no one need be the wiser. You'll moan like a whore by the time I'm finished with you, and then I'll have you, again and again, and as many times as I want, now, tomorrow, next week, next month, and all the years of our marriage."<p>

Patrick's face curled into a wicked grin. Mary swallowed and tensed, the tears flowing freely from her eyes as he pulled the blankets from her weak grasp. He laid himself on top of her, licking her sobbing face and pressing his hips against hers.

"I own you, Mary," he hissed.

Mary closed her eyes tight.

His hands moved down her sides. Mary kept her eyes closed, tears spilling down her face. Every nerve in her body coiled in fear and revulsion.

Patrick undid his trousers and Mary sobbed as she felt his hard arousal against her thigh, the thin nightgown the only barrier between them.

"I'm going to pull your drawers off," Patrick hissed into her ear. "Then I'll take you, make you a woman, a real woman, with real desires, real passions. You'll peak, Mary, over and over, all at my doing. Your body will crave mine. Soon, very soon, you'll learn to love this, Mary."

Patrick leaned on to his side to give himself room to move his hand under her nightgown to release her knickers. As he moved his weight off of her, Mary said a silent prayer.

She opened her eyes and her hand shot out and seized his exposed genitals with all of her strength. Patrick's eyes popped wide and his mouth fell open in shock and pain. Mary sat up in bed and pushed her free arm into Patrick's throat, forcing him over on to his back. She squeezed him fiercely, a strangled groan flying from his lips.

"You will never, ever, have me like this," Mary snarled, her eyes lit in fury. "If you ever dare to touch me again before we are married I will make quite sure that you will never be able to sire an heir, am I understood?"

Mary squeezed him harder to emphasize her point. Patrick cried out and nodded vigorously.

Mary released him and scrambled out of bed. Patrick rolled away from her and brought his knees up to his chest, rocking back and forth and grunting and groaning.

"Get out now or I will scream," Mary demanded. "I would like to see how your Papa will defend your innocence in all this when he sees you in your current state."

Patrick dragged himself off the bed. He doubled over and stumbled his way to the door. When he reached it, he looked back at Mary, his face wincing in pain. He turned the doorknob and disappeared into the darkened hallway.

When the bedroom door closed with a firm click, Mary fell to the floor. She reached over and dragged the blanket off the bed, her pulse racing. She wrapped herself in the blanket and curled up against the wall, her eyes staring at the door in terror until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1915**_

* * *

><p>Robert cleared his throat as he stared into the fire. Mary and Matthew had retired over an hour ago, but he felt their presence all around him. Their words echoed in his mind. Their fierce and determined glances stared back at him. If they meant to shock him, they had. If they meant to sway him or deceive him, he still remained undecided.<p>

"_Mary and I have been married since December 20, 1911, Robert."_

Their story seemed entirely ridiculous and fabricated, and yet a nagging feeling in his gut prevented Robert from dismissing it entirely. Robert knew that Mary had volunteered at the same hospital where Isobel and Matthew's father worked. Mary had worked directly under Isobel's supervision. Those facts were irrefutable. The opportunity for them to meet certainly was there. But when Matthew first arrived at Downton Abbey, he claimed never to have met Mary before, and Lord Merton never informed Robert about any connection between them, let alone a relationship. How could they have hidden their relationship – their marriage! – from everyone in Manchester?

Robert frowned. The same way they could hide it from everyone at Downton Abbey since Mary's return and Matthew's arrival over two years ago. Staying apart. Speaking briefly and politely. Arguing and protesting having to spend time in each other's company. Mary was never chaperoned as he and Cora never saw a need to do so given what had happened to her. As the heir, Matthew could come and go as he pleased. It was conceivable that they could spend time together outside of anyone's view.

In Manchester, they did not live together, of that Robert was certain. Being under the same roof must have felt like a honeymoon for them by comparison, even with the sneaking around they may have been up to.

"_I will never have any regrets where Mary is concerned. And my eyes were wide open when I proposed to her."_

It was one thing if Matthew wanted to take Mary as his wife to save himself from being dragged into the Army. Though there were better candidates, frankly, Robert wasn't overly concerned about who he married for that sole purpose. He wanted someone from their world who at least understood the importance of being Countess of Grantham, but in a worst case scenario, Robert would arrange for a divorce. There were ways. Pay the woman enough to admit adultery, invent some reason why the marriage should be annulled on the basis of fraud or deception. The details were irrelevant. Robert wanted Matthew protected from War. The woman chosen for that role was not overly important.

But Matthew was clear that Mary was his wife, had been for nearly four years now, and he obviously had every intention of keeping her as such. He wanted Mary to be Countess of Grantham. The idea was not always as distasteful to Robert as it was now. That was always the plan from when Mary was a young girl, and she was groomed specifically for that role. Though they had never had a normal and cordial conversation since her return, Robert knew that Mary still had the same sharp mind and clever wit that she always did. Manchester had not dulled those parts of her. The only reason she was not qualified to be Countess of Grantham was due to her sullied past.

"_Mary isn't a fallen woman. Not in my eyes. And I know the truth of what happened to her, unlike you."_

Robert stared at the footman's affidavit sitting on the side table. Thomas could have been coerced to sign it, or his signature could have been forged. He had left for War and as far as Robert knew, the most anyone had heard of him was through a few letters sent downstairs. It was convenient that the only people who could corroborate or refute Mary's claims were either dead, at War or unreachable behind enemy lines in Turkey. No, even if Robert were to objectively look at all that had been revealed to him this night, it came down to Mary's word. Even Matthew and likely Isobel's support was not determinative. Who knew what promises were made to them to buy their allegiance? And truly, what did Robert know about these long lost relatives? No, it came down to whether he believed Mary or not, believed what she said happened, and did not happen to her all those years ago, and whether that legitimized her marriage to Matthew and her claim to be Countess of Grantham.

"_I'm your daughter! That was your bloody reason! They told you a story and you believed them! You had your mind made up before I even entered the library that morning. You assumed that I was nothing but a pretty face with a penchant for rebellion; that I would let a man I'd just met into my bed, with no regard for my own self worth or my family name."_

Robert turned back to the fire. Why would Mary hide her marriage from her family if she knew she was a victim all along? Why the need for such a ruse if she was without fault and had not been defiled by Pamuk or Patrick during the Hunt so long past?

Robert grunted out loud, putting his empty glass down on the side table. To reveal the truth, particularly given Mary's position and the rumours about her, Mary required trust and belief. She needed to trust that her family would take her side and she needed them to believe in her version of the story. His Mama would believe her. Edith and Sybil as well. Even Cora, despite years of silently acquiescing to Robert's stance on the matter, would probably be elated if there was any hope that Mary could be saved. But none of their opinions truly mattered. They were women. He was the Earl.

Robert exhaled as he looked into the flickering flames. The gravity of the situation descended upon him like a shroud, making the air thick and stuffy.

What reason had he ever given Mary to convince her that he would ever believe anything she had to say?

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 1890<strong>_

* * *

><p>Robert had been back in London from his honeymoon for barely an hour before Carson summoned him to meet his father in the library. Cora was busy with following his Mama around and helping to plan that evening's dinner. Robert expected he would see his parents then, but this early summons delighted him. He was a married man now. He imagined his father would have two glasses of Scotch awaiting them, a brief toast and a nod, welcoming back in a fashion that suited his elevated status. Robert was no longer a young man anymore. He was now truly the heir, with a wife and the means to continue the Grantham line. His long struggle to earn his father's respect and acceptance was finally paying dividends.<p>

"Lord Grantham said you could enter at 4:00, and not a minute before," Carson nodded.

Robert stood quietly, taking out his pocket watch and counting the seconds. He barely flinched anymore at these petty displays of authority. He distracted himself by imagining all he would change when he became the Earl.

Carson opened the door and announced Robert to Lord Grantham. The butler closed the door and disappeared after Robert entered the room.

Arthur Crawley was sitting at a desk, his back turned to Robert. Knowing what this signified, Robert stopped a respectable distance away and waited for his father to address him first. After a few minutes of being ignored, Robert cleared his throat to get his father's attention.

"Robert," Arthur said with disdain. "I know you are there. Contain your childish impatience, and I will be with you in another minute."

Robert stood still, his eyes trained on his father's back. Nothing could lower his mood now. His thoughts drifted back to his honeymoon, and how surprisingly enjoyable it was. Cora was far warmer than he expected, and she was dutiful and did not refuse him anything. His eyes had certainly been opened. Perhaps they could forge a beneficial partnership after all, he thought.

"For heaven's sake wipe that smirk off your face," Arthur said as he stood from his desk. He buttoned his suit and walked over to the snifter of whiskey and poured himself one.

"Sorry father," Robert said automatically. "I was just thinking about my honeymoon."

"You must have enjoyed yourself," Arthur said as he sipped his drink. "You looked like you've gained almost a whole stone worth of weight."

Robert held his father's gaze and didn't flinch at the remark. He wanted him to see that he was unaffected by his tone; he was ready for more responsibility and to share the work that Downton required.

"Well," Arthur said as he continued to stare at his son. "As you've heard, I know James wrote to you, I've exercised my power to make a minor change to the entail. It is now a requirement that the next Earl works with his heir. I had my lawyers draft a bill that successfully went through Parliament."

"Congratulations Papa," Robert said with enthusiasm. "So, now we can officially work side by side. I know I have a lot to learn, but I'm ready."

Arthur chuckled as he set his drink down. He picked up the snifter and poured himself another whiskey. As he brought the glass to his lips, he stared at his son, at his eagerness and impetuous behaviour and how he stared at the alcohol.

"Help yourself," Arthur offered as he gestured at the bottle.

Robert stepped forward cautiously. He held up the glass towards his father.

"To the future," he said with pride.

"Robert, don't be so naïve," Arthur said with disappointment. He removed his pocket watch and looked at the time as though he had a more important engagement pressing on him. "The change that I've made requires that you will work with James. It does not apply to our current arrangement."

"But our current arrangement is that you make all of the decisions, Papa," Robert stammered a little. "I thought you would want to share some of the power with me now that I…"

"Now that you what?" Arthur interrupted. "You married that Levinson girl, a marriage that I brokered for you, and you think you are somehow now fit to rule at my side?"

Robert swallowed.

"I chose this moment because I knew you would arrive home with false beliefs about your future. Between your mother and your wife it falls to me to remove the nonsense that seems to surround you. So, now you know where you stand, where you belong. Not beside me, but behind me, with the others."

"I don't understand what I've done," Robert said, putting his untouched drink down. "Why don't you trust me? What can I do to make you trust me with even a small amount of responsibility?"

"You've proven quite conclusively that the small amount of responsibility I previously entrusted to you was far more than you could bear," Arthur said easily. "You were responsible for your behaviour. You were responsible for your image. You were responsible for carrying yourself like a proper gentleman, not some crazed lunatic chasing after skirts and loose women!"

Robert grit his teeth. "Have I not apologized for that error in judgment enough?" he managed. "I know it was a disappointment to you, but it was just harmless fun, Papa! I'm not that boy anymore. I'm a grown man who has studied our family history and the Estate and am ready to take up your title whenever the time comes. I'm your son, the son you always wanted me to be."

"Just because you're my son and have my blood does not mean I need to have any faith in you, and be clear that I do not. Your time will come thankfully after I've passed on. For now, when it comes to managing this Estate and assisting me in my the duties as the Earl of Grantham, I trust Jarvis and Murray more than I trust you."

Robert blinked.

"Now, that's settled. I'll see you at dinner," Arthur said as he left the library briskly.

Robert stood still, his hands clenched into fists as he watched his father leave. He slowly dropped to the settee, staring blankly across the room, taking deep breaths to quell the emotions that were threatening to erupt from within.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew stared at the ceiling, the dull glow of the firelight creeping across. His mind was alive with the dialogue of their confrontation with Robert hours ago and he was resigned to not sleeping for a while longer. He hoped that the adrenaline rush of finally revealing their marriage would wear off quickly and he would then pass into pleasant slumber, but his blood was still coursing through his veins even now.<p>

It was not excitement that kept his mind whirring though, it was concern and worry. As expected, Robert had not given them his blessing, or even acknowledged their story as being true. Matthew did not expect an embrace and a congratulatory pat on the back from the Earl, but the impasse was hardly a victory. When Robert offered no further words, Matthew advised him that he would be announcing his marriage to the rest of the family the next day. When Robert had barely acknowledged that further revelation, Matthew and Mary had bid him good night and left to go upstairs.

Mary had been silent as they walked up the staircase together. They had still been holding hands, and several of the servants had seen them, including Anna. But Matthew didn't mind that. Let them talk. Let the gossip run rampant across Yorkshire. What anyone said about them now did not matter.

What did matter was the pale complexion of Mary's face, as though the blood had left her. She dropped his hand and went quietly to her room, not saying anything. Matthew could only watch her go, whispering a 'good night' that he wasn't sure that she heard, and turn and go to his own bedroom after she disappeared around the corner to the Family Wing.

He knew he was not going to sweep her up and carry her away. They were treading dangerous ground, and it was not a time for celebration. But he did not want to be with Mary now simply to sate his constant desire for his wife. He wanted to comfort her, hold her, be with her and make her feel safe, all of the things that he was allowed to do as her husband. But he had to let her go for one more night, and all he could do was hope she was finding sleep more easily than he had.

Matthew sat up quickly as he heard soft footfalls outside his door. He swallowed, not daring to smile as Mary opened his door and slipped inside his room, shutting the door behind her. She seemed a ghost as she walked over to his bed, her blue robe falling to the floor as she slipped under the covers and came to him.

"Darling," he said tenderly, wrapping his arms around her as she settled against him. He fell back on to the pillows, stroking her back and massaging her arm as she buried her face in his neck. After several moments, she hooked her leg across his and pressed herself against him. He dared to kiss her forehead, then her hair, and finally smiled as her hand rested against his chest.

"We did it," she whispered.

"You did it," Matthew said. "You were brilliant, Mary."

"I don't feel brilliant," she huffed, her fingers caressing his bare skin. "I don't know how I'll face everyone else tomorrow."

"It will be easier," Matthew said lightly. "Mother will be there to help, and you know that your sisters will be elated."

"Sybil will be," Mary pondered. "Edith probably won't care either way."

"That's an improvement over your father," Matthew said.

"I'm scared, Matthew," Mary said quietly. "We don't have any cards left to play. Everything is out now. Our secret. My past. It's all been laid bare. If this doesn't work, then we have nothing else."

"We have each other, always," Matthew answered. "And I think that, with some time, Robert will see that he has no choice but to go along with us, at least for now. He can't hope to annul our marriage and force me to wed someone else. So long as he still wants to keep me away from War, then he'll have to accept that this is as good a solution as any."

"But in the future…" Mary began.

"In the future we will face whatever comes, together, as husband and wife," Matthew said firmly.

Mary sighed. She turned her head and breathed in his scent, kissing him lightly on the neck, then curling against him.

"I should feel happier," she frowned. "I should feel relieved that you won't be forced to enlist, and excited to declare our marriage to my family tomorrow, and aroused from how we faced Papa tonight. But I just…"

"Shh," Matthew said softly. "Go to sleep, Mary. There will be time for happiness later on."

"I should go back to my room," Mary said, not moving. "Bates could discover us in bed together, or Anna could find me not in my own bed in the morning. She already saw us holding hands. She suspects something and…"

"You're where you belong, lying with your husband," Matthew said, holding her closer. "Nothing and no one can hurt us anymore."

Matthew stared at the ceiling, the dull glow of the firelight creeping across. He waited patiently and finally smiled and closed his eyes when he felt and heard his wife fall asleep.

* * *

><p>"Married?" Cora frowned.<p>

"Yes, Mama, we're married," Mary nodded, rolling her eyes and showing everyone the rings on her finger once again.

"Since Manchester?" Violet repeated.

"December 20, 1911," Matthew declared, squeezing Mary's other hand at her side.

"It was a lovely ceremony at City Hall," Isobel smiled, recovering from her own shock at the announcement. She arrived at Downton Abbey expecting to have a pleasant breakfast with the family. They had been spending more time together with Robert's return to War imminent. She had not expected to walk into the middle of a crater created by the explosion of Matthew and Mary's reveal.

"Matthew's father and I were so very proud that day…of both of them," Isobel continued, unable to suppress her grin as Mary met her eyes and smiled back. "He told me many times how happy he was to have lived to see Mary become Matthew's wife."

Silence fell over the parlour as the family all continued to weigh Mary and Matthew's news. Sybil looked like she was about to burst. She smiled at Mary, then looked around the room to gauge what the reaction would be if she spoke up.

Edith had a curious smirk on her face, but remained quiet.

Cora looked over at Robert. He stood by the mantle, looking down at the floor, offering nothing.

"What does this mean for Matthew's future as Earl?" Cora said slowly, looking from Robert back to Mary and Matthew. "And Mary's role as well?"

"Mary and I will be Countess and Earl, someday," Matthew said clearly. "And we both sincerely hope that day is many years in the future."

"How is this possible?" Violet frowned, turning and addressing Robert. "Mary becoming Countess of Grantham was deemed to have been lost forever before she left for Manchester. Were you aware of this development?"

"They told me last night," Robert answered after realizing his mother would not allow him to remain silent. "Mary and Matthew can explain it all to you, and answer any other questions you may have," he said brusquely. He looked at Mary briefly, then turned and left the room.

Matthew frowned as he watched Robert depart.

"Oh, Papa," Mary said quietly, shaking her head.

"Leave him be," Violet said. "You can speak to him later."

Mary looked at her Granny and nodded slowly, taking some small solace in Violet Crawley's reassuring expression.

"Young man," Violet smiled, drawing Matthew's attention. "Why don't you and your lovely mother sit with me a while? Mary, dear, you can go into the sitting room with your Mama and your sisters. I am sure that you all have much to catch up on, and I want to speak to your husband and your mother-in-law and get better acquainted."

Matthew and Mary glanced at each other. Everyone moved to follow Violet's instructions, lest they feel the slap of the Dowager Countess' cane.

* * *

><p>"Cousin Violet," Matthew began. "I know you must have questions, as well as some strong opinions on…"<p>

Violet held up her hand to silence Matthew. She held up her tea cup and saucer to him and looked at him sternly.

Matthew frowned, then belatedly realized her silent request. He moved over to the table and picked up the tea pot, refilling her cup and pouring one for Isobel as well. Without being asked, Matthew spooned the preferred amount of sugar cubes and poured the milk for both Violet and his mother.

Violet smiled as she sipped her tea, then placed the cup and saucer down on the table.

"You met Mary when she volunteered at the hospital and was working under your mother's supervision," Violet stated.

"Actually, he met her before she started working under me," Isobel corrected. "It was her first day and my husband arranged for Mary to be moved away from a rather jealous and petty nursing coordinator."

"And you were honourable towards my granddaughter throughout your courtship?" Violet asked.

"Of course!" Matthew said indignantly. "How can you even ask that?"

"Quite easily," Violet chuckled. "It is precisely the sort of question that I would expect to be answered when faced with a man who up until a few moments ago I believed to be a bachelor and who has apparently been living secretly with his wife for the better part of two years now."

Matthew shrugged in acknowledgment.

"Tell me about her life in Manchester, your life," Violet continued. "Tell me how the two of you came to be married and how you came to Downton."

* * *

><p>"That's entirely unfair!" Mary snarled, glaring at her Mama. "Matthew was a perfect gentleman the entire time we dated! I explained to him why I couldn't marry him and still he persisted completely undaunted."<p>

"Of course he did! He had the perfect consort fall right into his lap! He could marry you and keep you sequestered away living with Lady Philomena and call upon you for his pleasure whenever it suited him!" Cora retorted.

"That isn't how it happened at all!" Mary fired back, waving her hand dismissively. "Matthew wanted to be open about us from the very beginning. It was my idea to keep everything a secret because of everything that happened before I went to Manchester! He wanted us to be married properly at Manchester Cathedral and to take out an announcement and all the rest of it! He owned a house that we were going to live in together! He set all of that aside because I asked him to!"

Cora laughed bitterly. "And when your noble Matthew discovered exactly who you were and who he truly was, he came running back here to claim the Earldom while conveniently omitting the detail that he was in fact married! Obviously he was keeping his options open. You saw how he was surrounded by women during the Season. Who knows what he got up to before he finally decided to reveal his happy marriage?"

"How dare you speak of my husband so horribly?!" Mary snarled. "You were going to throw me to Patrick when you knew how miserable I would have been! This family doesn't deserve Matthew, and I'm lucky to have him; beyond lucky!"

"Is he truly that good to you, Mary?" Sybil asked quietly.

Mary turned from Cora and looked at Sybil, her expression softening as she calmed herself. She smiled at her sister knowingly.

"It was him, wasn't it?" Sybil asked. "All those things that you mentioned in your letters? When you told me you knew what it was to be truly happy? It was because of Matthew, wasn't it?"

Mary grinned, nodding as the memories came forward, all the moments she kept hidden away allowed to be freely recalled and revelled in.

"You can't imagine what it was like," Mary said quietly, looking from Sybil to Edith. "Getting off that train, having Godfather treat me as though I was carrying the plague, everything that I knew about my life seemingly lost, never to come back again. Having to work wasn't a problem, I've done work before. It was not knowing who I was anymore, everything that I'd made of myself here was gone, and I didn't know if I would ever feel like…me…again. Matthew changed all of that. He made me feel that it was okay to be myself. He didn't ask me to be nice, or to flatter him, or to be friendly to his parents, or even to be interested in his job. He just loved me. He loved me for my thoughts, and my beliefs, and even my fears, and he made me want to be nice, and want to be kind, and want to get to know his parents. He was just what I needed when I needed it, and so much more."

"Oh, Mary," Sybil grinned, clapping her hands together. "And you would have been happy as a solicitor's wife?"

"I was already happy as a solicitor's wife," Mary nodded. "I would have lived the rest of my life with Matthew in Manchester. That was our plan. He came here for me. He didn't want to be Earl, neither did his father."

"Love and position in one handsome package. Who could ask for more?" Edith smiled.

Mary laughed and shook her head at her sister.

* * *

><p>"And you believed her?" Violet asked carefully.<p>

"Without hesitation," Matthew nodded. "I know you will have difficulty believing me, but even if the rumours about Mary were true, it would not have changed anything for me. I am grateful that they are not, for she has already suffered far more than she should have. But I didn't care whether she was pure on our wedding night or not."

Violet lifted her chin and looked at Matthew intently, weighing his words.

"When Mary and Matthew announced to us that they were engaged, Reginald and I were elated," Isobel said, looking at Violet. "We heard the rumours about Mary and assumed them to be true as we had not met her at the time and did not make the connection after she came to Manchester. It was only after they made their announcement that Mary explained what happened to her that fateful night. We were more than happy to accept her as our daughter, scandal and all. To know that such a horrible incident will not be a weight on their marriage is a blessing, but my late husband and I knew from the first moment that Matthew was besotted with Mary, and he would never abandon her, surely not over what other people might gossip about her."

Violet looked from Matthew to Isobel. She appraised both of them evenly before she turned back to Matthew.

"Your marriage will not save Mary's reputation," she said. "I am not entirely sure whether the passage of time would heal the deep wounds that James and Patrick inflicted."

"I don't care," Matthew said firmly. "Society can snicker and point all they like, but they cannot challenge the legitimacy of Mary being Countess of Grantham. We both know there are only a few people who can do that, and I am prepared to face all of them."

Violet laughed, glancing over at Isobel's stunned expression, then back to Matthew.

"Well you won't get any opposition from me," Violet huffed. "If you truly love Mary as much as you say, then I dare venture that you may become the first Earl to speak of his Countess in such glowing terms. There is the question of how you shall reveal your marriage to the world. Have you pondered that?"

"I expect a simple announcement in the newspaper of the family's choice would be sufficient," Matthew said cautiously.

"And what shall the announcement say?" Violet smirked. "Matthew Crawley, heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham hereby is pleased to announce that he has been married to Lady Mary Crawley for the past four years?"

Matthew sighed in exasperation. "Not exactly that, no," he said.

"You've done a remarkable job of embracing your role as _de facto_ Earl in Robert's absence. This is no different then your approach to managing the Estate. There is a proper way of doing this, and an efficient and effective way. I suggest that a newspaper announcement is not enough."

"You want a production," Isobel said.

Violet turned from Matthew to his mother and smiled. "It isn't a matter of what I want, dear Cousin Isobel. It's what Society demands."

* * *

><p>"And I yelled at him to get out of my bedroom," Mary whispered, looking down at her hands. She fidgeted with her wedding band, turning it with her fingers as she stared at the turquoise and diamond of her engagement ring.<p>

Cora, Sybil and Edith all looked at her in stunned silence.

"When Matthew told me that he loved me, I had to tell him; otherwise I would feel as though I had caught him with a lie. It turned out that he already heard about the story of me and Mr. Pamuk that James and Patrick spread through London. He just didn't know that it was about me specifically," Mary said quietly.

"And what was his reaction?" Cora asked.

Mary looked up at her mother defiantly.

"He didn't care," she said coldly. "I gave him every reason to throw me over, I put conditions upon him, insisted that we live apart, take every precaution to make it seem as though we barely knew each other, let alone were married. He accepted all of it."

"And he didn't demand that you…" Edith asked.

"Never," Mary replied. "Not once during our courtship, even though the world thought I was already ruined before marriage. On our wedding night he was so…" Mary hesitated, looking at Sybil, then continuing. "So generous. He didn't require anything of me. He was patient and kind. It was so different from what I thought it would be. And not just that, but our conversations and taking walks together, having meals, being with Matthew, being with the man I love, the man who loves me, everything is just…the most terrific fun."

Sybil and Edith laughed, then covered their mouths with their hands as Mary blushed.

"I don't know what to say," Cora shook her head. "When you left, I prayed that you would find some small amount of happiness. I didn't know where, or how, or if I would ever even hear from you again, but I hoped that someway you would be taken care of."

"It's Matthew, Mama," Mary said. "He's all I need."

"This appears to be the answer to your prayers, Mama," Edith said. "Not only has Mary found a husband, but she's unknowingly married the next Earl of Grantham."

"And it's so romantic at the same time!" Sybil exclaimed. "They were already married before we knew Matthew was Papa's heir. It's as though they were meant to find each other!"

"Sybil," Cora frowned.

Mary laughed, shaking her head. She could not help but feel as giddy as Sybil.

Cora looked back at Mary and sighed.

After a moment, she smiled at her eldest daughter.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Village Church, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, November 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Ah! Lady Mary!" Reverend Travis smiled, nodding as Mary came walking up the aisle.<p>

"Reverend Travis," Mary smiled, then gestured to her companion. "You know my cousin, Matthew, of course."

"Yes, of course. Matthew, how are you?" Reverend Travis asked.

"Very well, thank you," Matthew smiled. "And you?"

"Well, thank you," Reverend Travis nodded. "It's been a few weeks since I've had to preside over a poor fellow's funeral service. Sadly more and more of our young men aren't being sent home for a proper burial, but I'm trying to enjoy the brief respite at the moment. The mood of the villagers seems to rise and fall so quickly in these unfortunate times. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Matthew and I were wondering whether the Church is available on the morning of December 20," Mary asked.

"December 20, December 20," Reverend Travis wondered aloud. He walked over to a desk and opened a large book. "That's a Monday. There's nothing planned for the morning, Lady Mary."

"Good," Matthew smiled. "We were hoping that we could reserve the Church for a wedding ceremony."

"A wedding ceremony!" Reverend Travis exclaimed. "I haven't done one of those in some time! And who is the lucky couple?"

"We are," Matthew smiled.

"The two of you?" Reverend said in surprise. "How lovely! I suppose I am looking at the future Earl and Countess of Grantham, then!"

"God willing," Mary smiled, looking at Matthew.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire England, November 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You went to see Reverend Travis?" Robert asked as Mary came into the sitting room.<p>

"Yes," Mary nodded, approaching him, then stopping a slight distance away.

"And did you explain the full details of what you are doing and why?" Robert asked, not looking at her.

"No," Mary said evenly. "We reserved the Church for December 20, and he was quite happy that a wedding was taking place after so long without some happy news in the Village."

Robert turned and faced her. He looked at her for a moment, then looked out the window.

"Yes, I suppose a wedding does tend to lift people's spirits," Robert said.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Mary asked, raising her eyebrow at him. "Of trying to live up to this legacy that you've created in your mind of how the Earl of Grantham should behave and so on?"

Robert frowned and looked back at her. "Being the Earl of Grantham is an honour and a privilege. It isn't something to be taken casually, and carries responsibilities that cannot be ignored."

"And what responsibilities are those?" Mary asked lightly, walking away and sitting down on the sofa. She looked up at her Papa expectantly.

"Respect for our family and our history, for one," Robert said.

"Matthew has done everything you've asked of him since he's arrived," Mary answered. "He knows the family history better than any of us do, I dare say."

Robert pursed his lips and paused for a moment.

"Preservation and growth of the Estate for future generations," Robert said crisply.

"Downton has never been more profitable, thanks to Matthew's changes," Mary stated. "While homes and families around us have sadly fallen, Murray would confirm that our finances are far better than they were during James and Patrick's stewardship."

Robert narrowed his eyes. He placed his hands behind his back and took several steps towards her.

"Following all duties faithfully, including the terms of the entail," Robert said.

"Matthew only attacked the entail in Parliament because he expected you wouldn't believe us when we told you the truth that by marrying me he isn't in breach of the entail," Mary rolled her eyes. "And he told me that you weren't entirely aghast at the idea when you found out."

Robert frowned, then looked away.

"It's just me, isn't it?" Mary said coldly. "You love Matthew. You have your son now. He's exceeded all of your expectations, except his choice of a wife."

"Everything isn't always about you, Mary," Robert scoffed. "But you have a talent for making things about you, don't you?"

"You truly believe that I'll ruin him, don't you?" Mary countered. "Your worst fears have been realized. Your precious heir was seduced by your horrid eldest daughter before you had a chance to protect him from me, and it pains you to see us together."

"I know that he loves you," Robert said quietly, turning away from her. Mary opened her mouth in shock.

"It's obvious," Robert said. "I'm surprised that he was able to hide it for so long. I saw it last night when you told me you were married, and I saw it this morning when you made your announcement to the family. He adores you. You have him bewitched and bent to your will."

"Is it so terrible a fate that Matthew loves me, Papa?" Mary shook her head. "You know that he's a far better man than Patrick ever was. You know that Matthew will give me a life, that he'll make me happier than I ever would have been had I never met him. He already has. Why can't you just accept it? Do you truly want me to live a life of misery?"

Robert turned and looked at her.

"There was a time," he said softly. "That I wanted a good man for you, a strong man, a brave man. I knew all along that Patrick wasn't any of those things. But he still would have given you a life, a life here at Downton, which is what I wanted for you, before…everything that happened. Now I don't know who you are, Mary. You've been gone, and gotten married you say. You've lied…to me, to your family, carried on this charade. It's all so much to take in. I don't know how I feel about you one day being Countess of Grantham. Perhaps in time I could get used to the idea if what you say about what took place years ago is true. But I don't know if I can be happy for you. Too much may have taken place for that now."

"I won't beg for your blessing, Papa," Mary said, rising from the sofa. "You're right. A great deal has changed. I've found that man that you wanted for me. I've found him, and I'm never letting him go. After everything that's happened, everything you've done, I can't be bothered to care about whether you're happy for me or not."

Mary left the room, not looking back.

* * *

><p>"I think that you'll have to switch rooms. You're no longer a bachelor, you know," Mary smiled, kissing Matthew's chest.<p>

"I'll happily share your room, darling," he said, stroking her back. "And your bed."

"So naughty, Matthew," Mary smirked, reaching under the blankets and taking hold of him. "Perhaps we should keep this room for a while longer. It does afford us more privacy."

Matthew groaned as her fingers closed around him. "Anything you wish, Mary," he gasped.

"I'm surprised you can go again so soon," Mary said, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I probably can't," Matthew grunted, wiping his hair away from his forehead. "You were rather energetic the first time."

"And why not?" Mary asked lightly. "I get to make love to my husband without any secrecy or need to sneak around. I was almost hoping that someone would notice me coming to your room tonight."

"Well if you're going to have Anna attend to you here, you'll need to have your vanity moved over," Matthew laughed.

Mary leaned up and kissed him, swiping her tongue across his lightly.

"I've been meaning to tell you," she smiled. "After the ceremony, I want to go on a trip."

"A honeymoon?" Matthew smirked. "That's not entirely appropriate."

"I think it makes perfect sense. We should go away after our wedding, or renewal of our vows or whatever you wish to call it," Mary said.

"And where shall we go?" Matthew smiled.

"Back to Manchester," Mary said softly.

Matthew's eyes widened. "Truly?"

"I want to go back to the Midland with you," Mary nodded. "And it may be a good idea for your mother to go back as well, to see her house. But I think all three of us should go back and visit your father."

Matthew leaned forward and kissed her.

"That's brilliant, darling. Thank you," he said.

"Do you think he's happy for us, wherever he is?" Mary asked quietly. "Do you think he's proud?"

"I know," Matthew smiled. "That he is laughing with glee at what we've done, and he'll be very pleased to hear all about it. You're right. We should go and visit and bring fresh flowers."

"Mmm," Mary smiled, settling down against his chest again.

"However," Matthew noted, reaching an arm over to the nightstand and retrieving an unopened condom. "I do hope he isn't watching us at this precise moment, Mrs. Crawley."

Mary laughed as he turned her onto her back and kissed her soundly.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1915**_

* * *

><p>"But I don't understand," Sybil complained. "Isn't there a limit on how often he can be called up? How can they keep summoning him over and over?"<p>

"His Majesty may do whatever he wishes," Cora explained, nodding sadly to her youngest daughter. "And it's your Papa's duty to do what he's told."

Mary sipped her tea and glanced around the sitting room. It was strange how different Downton Abbey seemed to her now, even though it was still the same house she always knew. Besides electric lights and the telephone, nothing else had changed from the time she was a young girl. The house seemed to have stood still from the moment she left for Manchester to her return years later. If she was nostalgic, she would almost believe everything had remained as it was waiting for her to come back.

She idly flicked her thumb over her wedding band as Edith joined in the conversation. She still lit up a little in the morning when Anna presented her betrothal ring and wedding band to put on. Mary even caught her lady's maid smile as she retrieved them from her jewellery box. After announcing their news to the family, word of Mary and Matthew's marriage had spread quickly downstairs. Papa likely told Carson, who in turn told Mrs. Hughes, who then relayed the news to O'Brien and Anna and the rest of the servants. When Anna came up to help Mary change for dinner later that day, she was dutifully quiet about it, even ignoring Mary's rings until finally Mary confirmed the rumours with a nod and a smile. The two had then gossiped and laughed for ten minutes before composing themselves again.

"He won't have to go back to Turkey again, will he?" Edith asked.

"Your Granny has made arrangements through Lord Flintshire to have Papa reassigned," Cora shook her head. "We're hoping that he'll be allowed to stay in London for the time being, but anywhere is better than what he had to endure at Gallipoli, I would hope."

Mary sipped her tea again. It was funny how one viewed matters with the benefit of experience. As a teenager, she would have nodded easily at her Papa receiving special treatment from the Army. Why should an Earl need to place himself in harm's way, she would scoff. As Matthew's wife in Manchester she probably would have objected to such patronage, thinking that all soldiers should be treated equally, regardless of background and title. Now, as a married woman living back at Downton Abbey with her family, she simply wanted her Papa to be safe, whatever that meant. They were still at odds, and their relationship was more on the irreparable side than anywhere near a reconciliation, but she did not want to see him in danger, and if the family's connections could be called upon to protect him, then so be it. What was fair and just no longer held much weight with Mary anymore. The world wasn't fair. It was simply what it was.

"Don't you think so, Mary?" Sybil asked.

Mary blinked and looked over at her sister.

"I don't know, darling," Mary shrugged. "Whether Papa is close by or not, the issue of him attending my wedding was never a question of proximity."

"He'll be there if he can," Cora frowned. "You're still an Earl's daughter, and the Earl of Grantham should be at your wedding."

"Well then it truly will be the happiest day of my life, won't it?" Mary said with a false smile. Everyone in the room knew just how genuine her statement was.

"I don't see how you or Matthew can expect him to be so accepting of your news, or that it would make up for all that's happened," Cora sighed. "Marrying you off was never a solution to everything, Mary."

"Strange, I always thought it was the be all and end all of my entire existence," Mary said with mock surprise. "Are you saying that marrying the next Earl of Grantham was not all that was expected of me, Mama?"

"Mary," Cora shook her head in exasperation.

They all turned as they heard Carson's heavy footsteps come into the room.

"His Lordship is departing imminently, Your Ladyship," the butler announced.

"Thank you, Carson," Cora nodded. She turned back to Mary. "We'll all go out and see him off and give him our very best wishes."

"Of course we will," Mary said, rising from her chair. "It's what's expected of us, isn't it?"

Edith and Sybil shared a glance and Cora looked straight ahead as they left the room ahead of Mary.

After spending several minutes organizing themselves, putting on coats and ensuring that the Dowager Countess and Isobel had arrived, the family and staff gathered outside the house once again. It was such a frequent event, wishing guests well once they departed, and more recently seeing male servants and Robert off to War. Mary took her usual place next to Edith and Sybil. She stared at the ground, her hands linked behind her, waiting for her Papa to come outside. She heard the crunch of gravel as someone came to stand beside her. Expecting it to be her Mama, she blinked as she saw a rather large pair of shoes out of the corner of her eye.

She raised her head and turned slightly, swallowing as Matthew stood tall next to her. He spoke quietly to Isobel, his hands at his sides, a respectable distance between him and Mary. Looking upon them, there was no indication to specifically declare that they were husband and wife. Matthew could have been standing there simply as the heir to the Earldom, taking his place next to the Crawley sisters. But Mary could not help but look back down, smiling slightly as she drew her hands in front of her, the diamond of her betrothal ring glinting in the sunlight. They were standing together, married, and everyone now knew it.

Robert came out with Carson. He began with the servants, nodding to Mrs. Hughes and smiling politely to O'Brien, sharing a word with Anna and shaking Bates' hand. He had a calm manner about him, a presence and invited respect. He was a politician, able to speak pleasantly with his staff despite the distance between them in rank. When he shared the last quiet word with Carson, the servants were all standing at attention, and Mary knew they were hoping the best for him, that some would even pray for his well being.

"Be sure to give Shrimpy my best," Violet said as Robert approached her first.

"Of course," Robert answered. "It will be good to see him again before learning of my new assignment."

"Be safe," Cora implored him next.

"I will try my best," Robert answered as he kissed her gently on the cheek.

"I've never asked for anything else," Cora said gently.

"God speed, Robert," Matthew said, shaking the Earl's hand.

"Thank you, Matthew. Keep everyone's spirits up around here," Robert nodded.

The Earl patted his heir on the shoulder and Mary raised her head to look at him directly. Despite everything that had been revealed these last weeks, there was still an ease in the way her husband and father were with each other. There was a trust there which still confounded her. Was it simply because Matthew was a man? Was it due to her husband's calm demeanour and pleasant nature? She knew she should be glad for it, but part of her found it maddening.

"Edith, Sybil, Mary," Robert said as he turned towards his daughters. "God bless all of you."

"We will pray for you every day Papa," Sybil said quietly.

"Every day," Edith repeated.

"Good luck, Papa," Mary nodded.

Robert turned quickly and walked over to the waiting motor. Branson closed the door behind him and soon the car was off down the drive. Cora, Violet and Isobel led the way back into the house. Mary walked with Matthew into the library, laughing as she told him a story about some rather woeful floral arrangements she had seen with her sisters while planning decorations for their wedding reception.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Crawley House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, November 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Did Robert reach London safely?" Isobel asked as Molesley poured their tea.<p>

"He did," Matthew nodded. "He spoke with Cousin Cora last night. He's due to meet with Lord Flintshire later today and find out where he's being assigned."

"Won't he follow his unit to the next battlefield?" Isobel asked.

"There aren't many…left…of his unit after Gallipoli," Mary said, taking the offered cup from the valet. "Granny says it would be a simple thing to have them reassigned to another battalion if Papa were to be given an administrative position."

"Will he accept that?" Isobel frowned, stirring her tea.

"I'm not sure," Matthew sighed. "He certainly doesn't have the same fervour for battle as he did in the beginning. As for what would be best politically, I don't think that's much of a concern now that most of his peers are either dead or still in London themselves."

Mary sipped her tea slowly. She wasn't particularly interested in this conversation. She wanted to come visit Isobel to escape the talk of War that seemed to inject itself into everything that happened at Downton.

"Well, on to sunnier topics," Isobel smiled. "How goes the wedding planning?"

"Mama has remained in the background," Mary smiled. "Most of the details are already taken care of. It will be a small ceremony at the Church. Enough to say that we did it, but not so much that I'll be displeased with any of the guests who show up. The reception on the other hand is bound to be full of gawkers who want to see for themselves how I've bewitched Matthew into marrying me, so there will be a number of unwelcome people there, I'm afraid."

"Cousin Violet has excluded us from the reception planning," Matthew smirked.

"She's seen fit to involve me," Isobel nodded. "But I told her that none of my relations need attend. I'd much rather host them in Manchester."

"I'm so looking forward to that," Mary nodded. "I haven't met any of them."

"Well, be mindful, darling," Matthew smiled. "They're all very much like us, so you won't be dazzled."

"I'll be the judge of just how much you and your family dazzle me, thank you," Mary teased.

"Truly, I can't believe we're going back in mere weeks," Isobel smiled. "And in triumph, no less."

"I can't wait," Mary said, sipping her tea.

Matthew smiled at her, then took up his own cup. Isobel looked at them, a warm feeling filling her as she watched her son and daughter-in-law, content and happy, sitting in her home with no secrets, no need to conceal themselves any longer, married in every sense.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Constitutional Club, London, England, November 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>Robert felt at ease for the first time in years as he walked through the halls of his club. He walked proudly through the halls in his uniform. In this location with his peers of the realm, everyone operated in a similar way of thinking. Traditions were honoured, and he was respected for both his title and his military rank. He did not need to justify anything here, or explain himself. He was granted privilege and fealty for who he was without question.<p>

He came into the dining hall and nodded to several other members who saluted and waved to him. He was shown to his table and waited, perusing the menu for the day's meals. He looked up as Algernon Percy, Earl of Northumberland cleared his throat.

"Lord Grantham," Percy said.

"Percy," Robert nodded, rising and shaking the man's hand. "I'm meeting Lord Flintshire imminently. Would you care to join us?"

"No, no, thank you," Percy shook his head, raising his hands in front of him. "I just wanted to come by and tell you how pleased I am to see you well."

"Thank you," Robert nodded. Their membership had sadly been thinned since the War and everyone knew what had happened over in Turkey by now.

"I also wanted to pass on my regrets for your family that your recent bill did not pass through Parliament. I was rather impressed with your heir. I only wish my own son had as much gumption and command of the language."

Robert looked into the man's seemingly genuine candour and returned his smile. The subject of the private bill had been rather taboo amongst his other relations.

"Indeed," Robert said carefully. "Matthew is a confident young man."

"You're lucky to have him," Percy said. "I dare say many of us envy you that your House is in such good hands."

Robert nodded.

Percy took his leave respectfully and left. Robert looked after him curiously as Lord Flintshire came into the room. Robert rose and greeted his cousin, and once they were seated, drinks were served immediately.

"Shirmpy," Robert nodded, sipping his scotch. "Mama wanted me to thank you profusely for my deliverance."

"Don't thank me yet," Hugh MacClare, Earl of Newtonmore scoffed at his cousin. "I may be able to save you from the Turks and the Huns, but I can't do anything about the sharks here in London that you'll be swimming amongst."

Robert smiled in acknowledgment. When he was first told that his mother had called in a favour to his cousin's husband, he was irate. He thought it showed cowardice and that some would see him as taking the easy way out to avoid going back to the Front. He had warmed to the idea the more he thought about it. The aristocracy had been decimated in the War so far, losing many lords and their heirs from the officers killed in battle. What good was it to be a martyr under these circumstances? Hardly anyone would be left to remember it.

"How is James?" Robert asked.

"Alive," Hugh retorted at the mention of his son and heir. "He'll be home for the holidays, Thank God. Susan was bothering me day and night to arrange for his leave. She even had the girls write to me, imploring me to bring their older brother home. The nerve…she knows I have soft spot for Rose, and my defences aren't much better where Annabelle is concerned."

Robert chuckled. "Has Susan made arrangements for Annabelle?"

"Next year," Hugh nodded as the salad course was served. "We'll have the wedding at Duneagle in the Spring. I'm relieved, to be honest. Her fiancé is a good man, and he deserves to be spared."

Robert swallowed an asparagus spear before proceeding. "You of all people realize that marriage will likely not save him for long, barring a huge turn in our fortunes?"

"Of course," Hugh nodded. "But the longer he's not at the Front, the more time I have to arrange a post for him at home. I would have had yours ready earlier, but the urgency wasn't there, or so we thought."

"Don't apologize, please," Robert held up his hand. "My family and I are grateful to you. I'm also pleased that my men have been taken care of."

"Many of them aren't fit to go back as of yet," Hugh nodded grimly. "But I'm keeping them away from the Pals Battalions. That's no place for experienced soldiers. Other than that, my reach only goes so far, Robert."

"It goes far enough, Shrimpy," Robert said earnestly.

"Speaking of weddings, I received Cora's invitation for Mary's next month. I must say it came as a surprise," Hugh said lightly.

"Truer words were never spoken," Robert huffed.

"I suppose you've been away for so long that it must have come as a shock," Hugh said. "Susan will be sending our regrets, sadly. Though I expect I shall see the happy couple at some point in the New Year."

"You will. I'll see to it," Robert nodded. "After all, they owe you a great deal, even though they don't know it as of yet."

Robert and Shrimpy raised their glasses to each other in understanding.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You'd ask, wouldn't you? If there was anything that you wanted me to tell you. I mean, I'm sure you know," Cora stammered, looking at Mary.<p>

Mary rolled her eyes, gazing at her reflection in the vanity mirror as Anna finished with her hair.

"More than you did. Remember, I've already had my wedding night, and many nights since," Mary said, arching her eyebrow.

Anna blushed.

Sybil and Edith laughed together.

Cora frowned at them.

"Relax, Mama. There isn't anything that I need to hear now. Today is just for show, after all. I've been Matthew's wife for years already, and I'm looking forward to showing him off."

Cora shook her head in amusement.

Anna backed away and went to the closet to fetch Mary's wedding dress.

Mary looked down at her hands and slowly removed her betrothal ring and wedding band. She handed them over to Sybil.

"Give these to Matthew when you see him," Mary instructed. "We'll have to pretend that he's giving me my ring for the first time."

"It is such an exotic betrothal ring, so different and unique," Sybil said wistfully as she looked at it before putting it in the velvet box.

"Matthew chose it," Mary said as she removed the ring from her finger. "Turquoise stones for my birthstone that represent the time we knew each other in Manchester before we married and a single diamond for our commitment to each other."

Edith smiled at the explanation. "Cousin Matthew is rather thorough, isn't he?"

"He has a very good memory," Mary nodded. "I didn't even realize he knew my birthstone. I never told him what it was. He figured it out on his own."

"I suppose we'll all have to get used to that idea, not only that you're married to Cousin Matthew, but that you've both been through so much together," Cora nodded.

Mary turned in her seat and looked at her Mama curiously.

"We have been, yes," she said softly. "I never knew it was possible to feel so loved by another person. To this day I still wonder what possesses him to love me so much, but I never doubt that he does."

Cora smiled genuinely.

"Careful Mary," Sybil smiled. "You'll make us think you've gone and turned sentimental."

Anna smiled as she placed Mary's wedding dress on the bed.

Mary huffed at her sisters. "I won't shock you any further. Go on ahead. I'll see you all at the Church."

There was a knock at the door and Mary frowned in surprise. Cora went over and opened it.

"Granny! I thought you'd have gone directly to the Church," Mary said, rising from her seat.

"I would have, but then I would not have had the privilege of giving you this to wear," Violet smiled, handing a black velvet box to Cora.

Cora smiled and nodded. She turned to Mary and opened it.

Mary gasped.

Sybil and Edith's mouths dropped open in surprise.

"Is that?" Mary whispered, her eyes wide.

"The barrette and headband of the Countess of Grantham," Cora nodded. "I suppose you should be wearing a proper tiara given that you're already married, but we'll give that to you for the reception to keep up appearances."

Mary reached out a hand and touched the diamonds that covered the hair pieces. She had gazed at these jewels for hours as a child, and as she grew older, she bragged to her sisters and friends of how she would wear them on her wedding day. The traditional jewellery was of more interest to her than Patrick was. She had forgotten about them when she left for Manchester, resigning herself to never seeing them again.

"I suppose that it wouldn't look the same if the heir's bride didn't wear these," Mary said cautiously.

"They're yours," Violet declared. "Regardless of you being Matthew's wife, these belong to you, and now we can finally bestow them."

"Thank you," Mary said quietly.

"You should thank Cora. It was her idea," Violet said nonchalantly.

Mary looked at her mother in surprise.

"Just because I wasn't at your first wedding doesn't mean that I haven't been looking forward to this," Cora said.

Mary held her gaze for several moments, then nodded silently.

Sybil came over and took Mary's hands as Cora passed the velvet box to Anna.

"Matthew won't believe the grandeur of his wife," Sybil said mischievously.

"So very different from our first wedding," Mary agreed. "I wore a simple dress then and only the jewellery that his father had given me for my birthday. But it was still a wonderful day."

Violet, Cora, Edith and Sybil all left after wishing Mary good luck. Mary sat back down at her vanity as Anna approached to put the diamond barrette and headband in her hair.

"I'm so pleased for you, Milady," Anna said quietly as she worked. "Today has finally arrived."

"Thank you, Anna," Mary smiled.

* * *

><p>Mary came down the stairs, with Anna trailing behind her to ensure her train did not crumple or bunch. The lady's maid carried several long stems of white calla lilies, and watched Mary's every step. Mary turned at the landing halfway down the stairs and turned towards the Great Hall. She imagined this moment so many times in her youth. Even knowing it was Patrick she was going to marry, she still looked forward to joining the family history, being another moment that the Great Hall had witnessed. As she looked around the large room, the room that would one day be hers and Matthew's when he inherited, she was filled with calm and delight. It was as though they had played a trick on the world and gotten away with it.<p>

She smiled as she looked down and saw Carson standing there, gazing up at her in wonder. It was not often that the stoic butler showed any emotion at all, but she was happy that she brought this reaction out of him, as though their special bond was as strong as ever.

"Well, will I do, Carson?" she asked playfully.

"Very well indeed, my Lady," Carson replied.

Mary's eyes widened as her father stepped into the Great Hall, dressed in his full tuxedo and tails. Carson nodded and turned for the door, helping Mrs. Hughes usher the flower girls to the waiting cars.

"Papa," Mary said quietly as she descended the stairs and reached him. "I thought you would have gone ahead to the Church already."

"If it pleases you, I would much rather prefer to ride with the beautiful bride," Robert said slowly. "I…it's a father's privilege to give away his daughter on her wedding day, and it would be my honour to do so, if you would permit it."

Mary's eyes narrowed as she looked at his expectant expression. She could not decipher if he was being honest or if this was merely a ploy to make himself look magnanimous to her and appear fatherly to the guests.

"I agree that you are the one to do it, rather than Carson," Mary said carefully. "Let's be off then, lest we be late."

Robert turned and offered her his arm. Mary swallowed, stunned at the gesture. She slowly placed her arm in his and they walked out together.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Village Church, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, December 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew stood quietly before the altar, looking up at the ceiling. The past few moments had been a blur, and he took deep breaths to calm himself as he waited for Mary to arrive. Last night had been the first night they had not slept together in a month, Mary insisting on following tradition despite his many protestations that they were already married and so it was not bad luck for him to see her. Waking up without her had felt strange, and he'd glanced up several times looking for her as he went downstairs for Branson to drive him to the Church first. He was shocked by the crowds of villagers gathered on the street, waving flags and waiting expectantly for Mary's car to arrive. It wasn't particularly cold for December, and it wasn't snowing, but it still struck Matthew as odd that complete strangers cared so much about his wedding.<p>

He smirked as he continued to glance above, hearing his father's playful tease in his mind.

'_They aren't standing outside waiting for you, Matthew'_

Matthew lowered his eyes and looked at the altar as he heard cheers and calls from outside. His heart was beating faster, which he thought was rather ridiculous. He and Mary were already married. This was merely a performance for the sake of Society and so that Cousin Violet and Cousin Cora would have an excuse to host a party and present Mary and Matthew as a proper couple. Matthew was playing a role more than anything else. There was no need to be nervous. He already knew how this ceremony was going to end.

The harpist and violins began playing and Matthew heard the shuffle of the crowd as they rose from their pews. He could feel a slight draft behind him from the door opening. He knew Mary had arrived without even looking back. He smiled. He could finally look upon her and share a playful glance at how absurd this entire exercise was.

Matthew turned his head and his lips parted as he gasped. Mary was walking up the aisle on Robert's arm, which in itself was a surprise, but Matthew had no time to even think about the Earl of Grantham.

Mary's translucent veil covered her face, but he could clearly make out her grin. Her eyes caught his, and as she approached, he almost forgot to breathe. In Manchester, he thought she looked gorgeous on their wedding day, even though she wore a normal dress and had taken care of her own coiffure. It was the fact that she was finally his that made her even more beautiful. Today though, she shimmered. Matthew knew very little about wedding fashion, and even less about jewellery, but everything about Mary was stunning, and he found that knowing she was already his wife, that they were finally able to have the ceremony that she deserved made her all the more breathtaking.

Mary released Robert's arm and stood beside Matthew, both of them facing forward as Reverend Travis called for attention.

"You allowed Robert to walk you down the aisle after all," Matthew whispered. "To be honest, I wasn't sure that you would."

"I'm glad to hear it, husband," Mary replied back, not looking at him. "I should hate to be predictable."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Once more," Mary said, smiling at him.<p>

"We spent more and more time together since I arrived, and I learned how important it was to have someone support me who was familiar with the Estate and could guide me through dealing with Society," Matthew repeated. "With War going on and Robert away, I realized how important it was to move forward when I had the chance, and so I proposed and you graciously said yes."

"Very good," Mary nodded. "And?"

Matthew smirked as they stood together outside the closed doors of the salon. Everyone was already inside enjoying the reception, waiting for their entrance.

"And, certainly I was swayed by having made love to you numerous times over the past four years. It left me with no doubt that we would get along in the bedroom as well as in public," Matthew said wickedly.

"Matthew!" Mary gasped, blushing fiercely. "That is completely vulgar and inappropriate!"

"But is it untrue, wife?" Matthew leered, stepping towards her.

"No," Mary whispered, arching her eyebrow at him teasingly. "Definitely not. You could say we get along far better in private than we do around others."

"Why don't we go upstairs and see how well we still get on?" Matthew said, his hands coming across her waist.

"Matthew, they expect us in the salon shortly," Mary said, raising her chin and deliberately turning her face to show him her neck.

"Didn't you know, darling? I'm the heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham," Matthew said, leaning forward. "All of Society can wait for me."

She pushed him back as the door opened slightly and Sybil came out.

"Mary, Matthew!" she smiled as she came up to them. "We're ready now! Carson will announce you!"

"Sybil," Matthew smiled. "Have you been drinking?"

"Just champagne!" Sybil said indignantly, blushing slightly. "It's in your honour, Cousin Matthew, in celebration of this wonderful occasion."

Sybil kissed Mary on the cheek, then turned and skipped back into the salon.

"When does our train leave?" Mary said. "I don't want to be here to be blamed when Sybil needs to be carried upstairs."

"She won't get that out of control, surely?" Matthew asked with concern. "She's simply enjoying herself."

"Perhaps she's drowning her sorrow," Mary mused, smiling at Matthew. "Having lost her crush must be devastating for her."

"Don't joke about it," Matthew rolled his eyes. "You make it sound as though I preyed upon her innocence, and that's entirely distasteful."

"Oh, I don't know," Mary smiled. "Now that I'm openly your wife, perhaps I shall need to be mindful of you looking to fill my former position of consort with someone else."

"Mary!" Matthew growled. "I would never do that! Not only would I not take a consort or a lover, but I surely would never even think of your sister in that fashion!"

"But isn't that what you middle class scoundrels enjoy bragging about amongst yourselves?" Mary smirked. "All of your conquests and the women you've played with?"

Matthew swallowed. "Keep up this charade and I will have no choice but to put you in your place when we arrive at the Midland this evening," he warned.

"You can always try, I suppose," Mary said airily. "We've slept at that hotel so often that I expect it may seem rather boring tonight, unless you are able to make it seem different, somehow."

Matthew's lips curled in a snarl before he regained his composure. "Very well, Lady Mary. If it's a scoundrel that you want in your bed this evening, then a scoundrel you shall get."

Mary shivered at his words, then turned away as Carson opened the double doors to the salon.

"Presenting Mr. Matthew Crawley, heir presumptive to the Earl of Grantham, and his wife, Lady Mary Crawley," the butler announced in a booming baritone.

Applause rang out as Mary took Matthew's arm and walked into their wedding reception.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Royal Suite, Midland Hotel, Manchester, England, December 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Good evening, sir," the desk clerk nodded as Matthew approached the counter.<p>

"Good evening. Matthew Crawley and Lady Mary Crawley," Matthew said.

Mary smiled at his side at the mention of their names. They always arrived separately to the hotels they met up in, checking in under different names and meeting in the room. It was such a small thing, but when the car delivered them to the hotel from the train station, they had walked into the hotel together, hand-in-hand. The polite nods and bows they received from the hotel staff felt different as well. They were being recognized as a couple, and Mary delighted in it.

"The Royal Suite," the clerk smiled, handing the key to Matthew. "Welcome back, Mr. Crawley. And welcome, Lady Mary. Congratulations to both of you."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded. He turned and escorted Mary across the lobby to the lift.

"You didn't tell them we're here for our honeymoon, did you?" Mary asked.

"Of course I did," Matthew smiled at her. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well it isn't truly our honeymoon. It's actually our four year wedding anniversary," Mary smiled.

"And in either case, I fully intend to act as though we are on honeymoon," Matthew whispered, looking at her intently as they entered the lift.

* * *

><p>Mary laughed when Matthew scooped her up outside the door and carried her over the threshold. She kissed him as he spun them around and placed her back down on the floor inside the familiar suite. Fresh flowers were placed in the room, and a congratulatory note was on the table next to a bottle of Bollinger chilled in an ice bucket.<p>

"What do you think? Does it look the same as it always did?" Matthew asked.

Mary looked around the room and smiled. "Yes, but for some reason this evening feels even more special than the others," she said.

Before they could say anything further, the bellman knocked at the door with their luggage. Mary went to freshen up as Matthew directed the bellman to place their suitcases in the bedroom and closet of the suite. When Mary emerged from the bathroom, Matthew had organized some of his clothes. She kissed him lightly and went about unpacking some of her things as he went out into the living room.

Eventually Mary emerged from the bedroom. She went to the window and looked out on to the Manchester evening. She smiled happily as Matthew came up behind her and wrapped her in his embrace.

"You could have brought Anna, you know," Matthew said, kissing her neck. "We're here for a week and you shouldn't have to fend for yourself."

"I recall you filled in admirably as my maid whenever we stayed here in the past," Mary smiled, shifting her hips back against him. "Though for some reason you're more efficient at removing clothes than you are doing them up."

"Peculiar, isn't it?" Matthew laughed against her skin.

"We're here, Matthew," Mary whispered, looking down at St. Peter's Square far below them. "In Manchester, married, and everyone knows it."

"It only took four years," Matthew grinned, turning her face towards him and kissing her softly.

She kissed him back, her hand coming up and framing his face as she pulled him closer. His arms curled around her, holding her back against his chest as his tongue caressed hers.

"I'm very pleased that you changed out of your wedding dress for the trip," Matthew breathed between kisses, his hand moving up and cupping her breast over the layers of clothing of her travelling suit.

"Why is that?" Mary exhaled as she kissed him back.

"Because, darling," Matthew said, drawing back slightly so she could see his lit eyes. "It would be such a shame to have to tear your wedding dress."

Mary yelped as he picked her up and carried her deliberately to their bed, kissing her firmly and ardently, the force of his mouth and hands becoming insistent.

"Mmm, are you ready to teach me a lesson, husband?" Mary teased, pushing his jacket off and tugging at his tie.

"Even if it takes all night," Matthew said, kissing her neck as his fingers made quick work of the buttons of her blouse.

They were soon naked beneath the bedcovers, their clothes thrown to the floor. Mary moaned as he licked her breast, his hands reaching down her arms and finding hers. They linked their fingers together, the sight of her rings and their joined hands causing a tremor to flare deliciously through her body.

"Tell me, Mary," Matthew said fiercely against her ear as he ground his hips against hers.

"Please, Matthew," she answered, clutching his back and readying herself.

He laughed richly. "God, I love you. You are so beautiful."

She gasped as he kissed her shoulder and bit into her skin. Her back arched and she groaned at the sensation.

"Trying to mark me as yours, are you?" she laughed, kissing his cheek.

"You have no idea," Matthew hissed, seizing her mouth again. She felt his hand release hers, and his arm moved as he reached for the drawer of the nightstand.

She moved her hand to stop him, taking hold of his fingers and pulling them back, laying her arm above her head.

Matthew raised his head and looked at her in shock.

Mary swallowed and met his gaze. Her heart beat rapidly, the weight of what she was choosing so heavy upon her, and yet completely liberating as well. The two of them seemed suspended in that position for long moments, Matthew searching her face for some sign of caution or fear and finding none.

"Are…are you sure?" Matthew stammered, his eyes wide, his mind refusing to believe what she may be trying to tell him.

"You've lived your life, and I've lived mine, and now we're finally allowed to live them together, truly together," Mary whispered, her eyes moistening. "There's no need to be careful anymore. Everything is permitted."

Matthew leaned down and kissed her once, twice, three times. He raised up again and smiled down at her.

"Mary," he smiled.

"Husband," she smiled back.

He kissed her again, each of them breathing in their collective cries of pleasure that followed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Cathedral Cemetery, Manchester, England, December 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I'm afraid they won't last very long," Mary sighed as they walked along the snow covered ground. She carried the calla lilies from her wedding in her arms, the stems already drying up slightly in the cold air.<p>

"Don't worry about that," Isobel smiled. "He would get a good laugh at you being concerned that he would actually care about such things."

Matthew laughed as well, holding the wreath they'd purchased that morning. He guided his wife and mother along the row until they came to a large headstone. Mary and Matthew stood back as Isobel stepped forward. She brushed snow off of the headstone briskly, then patted it several times, smiling at her husband's name engraved across the front.

"Reggie, we're back," she smiled. "I know I told you everything last night, but why don't you hear it from Mary and Matthew directly?"

Isobel stepped back and Mary and Matthew approached. Matthew kneeled in front of the headstone and placed the wreath at its base. He steadied Mary as she leaned down and placed her calla lilies beneath the wreath. They both stood up and stared at his father's name, each of them lost in their own thoughts for several moments.

"We did it, Papa," Matthew whispered, holding on to Mary's gloved hand as he spoke. "Mary's going to be Countess, just like you wanted."

"Thank you so much," Mary whispered, holding on to Matthew. "I know that I told you so many times that I didn't care about any of it, but now that Matthew and I had a proper church wedding and we're both at Downton Abbey with our future ahead of us, I'm so happy, and so grateful."

They stood together for several more minutes. Matthew then guided Mary away and left Isobel to have some private time. Matthew walked over to a nearby bench and sat down, putting his arm around Mary's shoulder and pulling her close to him.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"In your arms? Never," Mary smiled. "God, when did I become so disgustingly sappy where you're concerned?"

"There was nothing sappy about you last night," Matthew teased. "And I still have the marks to prove it."

"Matthew, your parents are just over there," Mary rolled her eyes. "And you very well know that you aren't the only one left with marks. You were practically trying to devour me at times."

Matthew laughed and squeezed her closer.

"Do you think she's happy?" Mary asked, looking over at Isobel. "She's done what she went to Downton to do. I'm concerned that she'll be lost without a mission to pursue."

"Mother is quite good at finding new causes to champion, I assure you," Matthew said. "And surprisingly, she's grown quite close with Cousin Violet. The two of them make strange but lovely companions."

"They do," Mary nodded. "Granny doesn't like not getting her way, but I think she secretly likes it when Isobel stands up to her."

"They never have dull conversations, from what I understand," Matthew agreed.

"What do you think comes next, darling?" Mary asked, looking over at him.

"God knows," Matthew said, kissing her lightly. "We're still at War. Robert is still at odds with us to a degree. The Estate isn't in the clear just yet. Who knows what's coming?"

"I was always taught that my life would begin once I married," Mary said, snuggling closer to him, revelling in the fact that she was allowed to act this way in public. "But life seems almost more uncertain now than it did when we were first married."

"It's a reminder to appreciate what we have, I suppose," Matthew said.

"And what do we have, Matthew?" Mary asked, smiling at him.

"We have each other, and a reception waiting for us back at my mother's house," Matthew said. "And we have a hotel suite all to ourselves for the rest of the week."

"And what part of that are you looking forward to most?" Mary teased.

"I'm looking forward to all sorts of things," Matthew smirked, looking at her knowingly.

"Don't make me blush," Mary smiled, arching her eyebrow at him.

He leaned over and kissed her softly as the winter air in Manchester warmed just a little.


	29. Chapter 29

_**Home of Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, December 1915**_

* * *

><p>Mary gazed out the window as the taxi wound its way from the busy street on to the quieter road of Matthew's old neighbourhood. She smiled to herself as she recognized old landmarks that she would pass on her way here from the hospital. The wrought iron gates of the park entrance. The house on the corner where a cat was always sleeping on the window seat. When she was a child, Mary would often look out proudly on the drive up to Downton Abbey. When the car crested the short rise and the big house rose up majestically, she would always smile, so pleased to be home, smug that the large country house was hers. She felt a different emotion now as she neared the familiar city house. All the warm memories that the city and this place held for her came flooding back, sweeping across her like a comfortable blanket. She looked down at her gloved hands, her wedding rings safely tucked underneath. She breathed out slowly, letting the moment sink in.<p>

Matthew reached over and placed his hand on her knee, smiling at her knowingly.

Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Crawley had come home to Manchester.

Mary walked in the front door behind Matthew and Isobel. She took her time remembering the house as she went. The foyer, with the large mirror and now with Dr. Crawley's portrait hung on the wall. The kitchen, where Mrs. Bird greeted her and Matthew warmly as cooking and baking was going on all around them. The dining room, where some of her happiest moments had taken place – sitting around with Matthew and his parents having a lively debate or listening to some anecdote from the day. As Isobel and Matthew busied themselves with last minute planning for the reception, Mary quietly stole away and went upstairs.

She walked down the hall and paused outside the open door to Isobel's bedroom. She looked over at the chair next to the bed, where she had kept her vigil during the last days of her father-in-law's life. The portrait in the foyer was perfect – showing his warm expression, his piercing eyes and his barely contained grin. Even looking into this room and remembering him lying in bed during his final moments, his eyes were still kind and his smile constant. Mary smiled in nostalgia. Dr. Crawley was not here to welcome them back, but she felt all of the recent events they had been through would have pleased him.

She moved past Isobel's bedroom and down to Matthew's. She stepped inside and sat down on the bed, smoothing her hand over the blue bedspread. She looked around the room, so simple and basic compared to even his guest bedroom at Downton Abbey. She didn't see this room until after they were married, and even then, they were both rather nervous about being here alone with Matthew's parents down the hall. Over time, it had become a sanctuary for her, even when Matthew wasn't home. She would sit here and read, or nap, or write letters while she waited for him to arrive. Making love to her husband here seemed dangerous and thrilling, both of them having to muffle their cries. The fact that he would have to escort her back to Lady Philomena's shortly afterward made them both feel as though they were doing something scandalous, which was both hilarious and exciting at the same time.

"I thought you'd be downstairs, gazing lovingly at Papa's portrait," Matthew teased as he came into the room.

Mary rolled her eyes at him as he sat down beside her. He put his arm on her back and gently rubbed her with a soothing caress. Mary leaned into the touch, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I must have gotten lost," Mary joked. "I'm glad that your mother moved the painting downstairs. I never understood why it wasn't given a more prominent place, like the gallery of Earls back at Downton."

"Papa used to say, if he wanted to see himself, he would look into a mirror," Matthew laughed, turning and kissing the top of her head. "But, with the onslaught of my mother's relatives about to join us, we will need whatever fortification he can offer."

"Matthew," Mary said chiding him, "Don't try and fill my head with such rubbish. I've survived numerous Seasons of being the laughing stock of Society. It will be a pleasure to meet your relations."

"Yes, but Society works in subtle glances and whispers. Mama's relations are quite…" Matthew paused with a sly smirk on his face as he searched for the proper description.

"Zealous, keen, fervent, intense. They, erm, are rather bold about speaking their minds," he finished.

"So strange considering how docile your mother is," Mary laughed. "Don't worry, darling. There's nothing that anyone could say to ruin this day for me, or this entire week, in fact. I'm on my honeymoon."

Matthew kissed her again, then took her hand and led her back downstairs.

The first guests arrived shortly after, greeted by Davis and ushered into the parlour for hors d'oeuvres and drinks. Mary and Matthew stood together, with Matthew making the introductions and Mary smiling demurely. She found the role reversal amusing. Though she was not the one to introduce Matthew during parties and dinners in London, she enjoyed seeing her normally talkative husband standing stoic and guarded as her parents extolled his virtues to strangers. Here in Manchester, she could let him take the lead while she appraised each of the characters who arrived.

As the room filled and no sign of moving to a formal meal, Mary relaxed just a little. She was used to a process for these types of receptions, and of course Isobel had chosen to have something decidedly informal for them. Her mother-in-law was a marvellous host and did most of the circulating, allowing Matthew and Mary to remain comfortably in one place, receiving well wishes. Isobel would appear from time to time when she felt her presence was needed to move the conversation along, or encourage a family member to mingle, rather than monopolize the couple's time. Mary did not have to deal with any controversy at all and felt completely at ease.

It was not to last.

Isobel's cousin, Vivian, was a spinster and had an all-knowing and superior air about her. She stood tall, towering over everyone, including Matthew. If this was not imposing enough, her clothes were, Mary thought kindly, practical, showing very little of her shape at all.

"Matthew, welcome home," Vivian said affectionately in greeting. "I am so pleased that you have come back to the city after wandering the wilderness of Yorkshire. And this must be your lovely bride."

"This is Mary, cousin," Matthew smiled. Vivian lifted her spectacles and glanced at Mary up and down.

"Ah yes, the nurse's assistant," Vivian muttered. "I'm sure you're quite relieved to be back in civilization as well. Now, where were you two planning on living?"

"We live at Downton, cousin," Matthew said. "Mary's family is there and with her father gone to War, the responsibility falls to me to help out where I can."

"Yes, I knew you went there before, but I did not expect you to remain after this," Vivian huffed. "A proper wife follows her husband to his house, not the other way around, surely?"

Before Isobel could interject, Mary gave Vivian a sweet smile.

"Actually, the house is Matthew's, or will be eventually," Mary said lightly. "He's the head of the family while Papa is away."

"I see," Vivian said carefully. "Well, that is all well and good then. And what are you doing for the war movement, my dear? Women are needed in all manner of previously banned positions for the greater good. It is a wonderful thing to witness here in Manchester, pride in pulling together against adversity and odds."

"I read the most astonishing thing in the newspaper," Matthew chimed in before Mary could respond. "In one week, Chapel Street had over a hundred volunteers enlist, including seven brothers from one family."

"With the men gone away, it leaves matters to us women to manage in some respects," Vivian said confidently. "A young lady such as you should have more ambition, that is, after you've had your first child of course."

Matthew swallowed in fear, not daring to look at Mary. He expected she was furious.

"Vivian, we should let Matthew and Mary meet the others. Let's go and find Phyllis and have a proper catch-up. Matthew. Mary," Isobel said, taking her cousin's arm and guiding her away.

"Do I have something scandalous to tell you!" Vivian laughed as she went away with Isobel.

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief and turned slowly to look at his wife, an apology already on his lips.

"You don't need to stand guard over me all of the time, darling," Mary smirked. "She's harmless, and it's not the first time I've been asked what I'm doing with my life."

"I know," Matthew nodded. "I just don't want you to feel pressured or harangued at your own wedding reception."

"I'm all right," Mary laughed. "And cousin Vivian did have a good suggestion."

"Oh? Are you thinking of contributing to the War effort?" Matthew asked curiously.

"Yes," Mary smiled playfully before leaning towards him and whispering in his ear. "After I've had your first child."

Matthew gasped loudly. He blushed and struggled to compose himself as Mary smiled politely and greeted one of his distant cousins.

* * *

><p>"Congratulations, Matthew," a younger man said, clapping Matthew on the back.<p>

"Thank you, John," Matthew smiled wryly. He greeted four other younger lads in turn as they gathered around him with their drinks. Mary was off at the other end of the room with Isobel talking to other guests. Matthew had fetched himself a drink and was about to rejoin them when he was stopped by the boys, all children of family friends. They were all in university now, though they behaved more like teenagers when they were together. Matthew was glad to see them. He feared they had already enlisted in the War, and was pleased to see they had not. The fact that conscription may force them to go caused him to frown slightly in trepidation.

"I have to say, Matthew, your wife is absolutely stunning," another man said.

"Thank you," Matthew smiled, glancing across the room at Mary.

"She's far too good for you, Matthew," another chimed in. They all laughed together. Matthew raised his glass.

"I can't argue with that," he said, and they all raised their glasses in turn.

"So…what is she…like, Matthew?" John asked quietly, his eyes wide. The other boys crowded in a bit closer so they could hear.

"What do you mean?" Matthew smirked in confusion.

"You know…" John said, blushing. "What's she like?"

Matthew blinked several times, looking at the boy, then realizing the question.

"Ah," Matthew smiled. "You're looking for something sordid, aren't you?" he laughed. "That is my wife that you're talking about, you know. Be mindful, now," he scolded them lightly.

"Yes, but we've all already heard about her," another man complained. "So it's not as though you're telling us anything we haven't already imagined. We just want a firsthand account, is all."

Matthew's mouth fell open in shock.

"What are you implying," he glared, watching each of them carefully.

"We don't mean any disrespect, Matthew," John whispered. "But we know all about Lady Mary Crawley and her scandal. I heard she was found in her bedroom with a foreigner and his servant."

"What?!" Matthew almost shouted, struggling to keep his voice down.

"It wasn't a foreigner and his servant," another man shook his head. "The foreign fellow had her first and let his servant have a go the next night."

Matthew's head spun towards the speaker and the boy paled in the face of his fury.

"That is…what the gossip was, Matthew. We never spread it, of course. We just heard, is all," the man stammered.

"Irrespective of what you've heard," Matthew said tightly, grinding his teeth as he spoke. "Mary is the finest woman I know and I'm lucky to call her my wife. Any horrible gossip that you may be aware of is only that – gossip – and I suggest that none of you deal in such filth, lest you find yourselves sullied as a result."

"Peace, Matthew," John said. "You're right. We don't know her. But we just wanted to know what it's…like."

Matthew exhaled loudly and looked up at the ceiling. He finally composed himself and looked at each of the young boys.

"When it's with the right woman, it's glorious, and worth waiting for," Matthew said pointedly. "Now, all of you enjoy yourselves and go easy on the drinks, please."

Matthew nodded to them, then left and crossed the room, coming to Mary's side.

"There you are, darling," Mary smiled. "I thought that rabble of boys had talked you into running off with them and getting into some mischief."

"No," he smiled, squeezing her hand. "I'm quite busy here."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Manchester Cathedral, Manchester, England, December, 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>Snow fell all around them as they approached the church. The lights from inside cast a glow across the shimmering white ground, a large crowd filing into the cathedral. Mary looked up at the large Gothic structure and smiled to herself. She attended services here weekly when she lived in Manchester, sitting in a separate pew from Matthew and his parents, or a few seats down, but they would always go back home for luncheon afterward. She was supposed to have been married in this church, and now her father-in-law was buried here. It felt fitting that she could now openly walk through these doors for Midnight Mass on Matthew's arm. She could feel Matthew relishing the moment as well as he patted her hand.<p>

Once inside the church, they quietly took their places in a pew halfway up the aisle, saving a place for Isobel, who was milling about speaking with friends. Mary was struck by how few men were in attendance. Mostly women and children filled the pews as the clergy bustled around, and the choir took their positions.

"Your Godfather is here," Matthew whispered to her, a smirk on his lips. "On our left, near the front."

Mary frowned and glanced over, making out the thin figure of Lord Merton, as well as Lady Merton and their sons.

"Smile and don't mind him, Mary," Matthew said playfully. "It would be a poor way to end the year having to punch him in the nose."

"Anything for you," Mary replied. "After all, it is Christmas."

Isobel joined them, taking a seat next to Matthew. She leaned over and looked at Mary anxiously.

"Lord Merton is here," she said. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"I am, thank you," Mary smiled, nodding to her. "And I'm glad to see him, or rather, glad for him to see us."

Isobel smiled knowingly, then sat back and reached for the hymn book.

"Did you know," Matthew said quietly to Mary, "I used to sing in that choir."

"You?" Mary said playfully, "A choir boy? I would have never guessed that. Are you good?"

"I hope so," Matthew said, looking at her sideways and raising his eyebrow.

"Perhaps I shall have you sing for me," Mary said, reaching for the hymn book in front of her.

"That could be arranged, though I think I would prefer a duet. Cousin Cora told me you used to sing when you were younger, with Edith accompanying you on piano."

"A lifetime ago, darling," Mary smiled.

The murmurs of the crowd slowly dissipated as the service began. There was more of a production to this Midnight Mass than Mary had ever experienced in the Downton Village Church. More people meant more voices and the large cathedral was acoustically grand, giving life to the hymns and the sermon. The sermon was from the gospel of Matthew, which made her husband wink at her, and he took her hand to hold as they listened. The Christmas lesson related the story of following the star of Bethlehem and the ensuing Epiphany. Mary could very much relate to this subject matter that spoke of dreams and miracles.

_O, Star of wonder, star of __night_

_Star of royal beauty bright_

_Westward leading, still proceeding,_

_Guide us to thy perfect light._

As the hymn concluded, the church bells rang in celebration. Mary chastised herself for feeling so sentimental, but she always enjoyed the holiday season. She feared she would be on her own after having to leave Downton Abbey, but Matthew and his family made sure she never spent a Christmas alone. As Matthew escorted her outside, she held on to him rather possessively, almost drunk with the joy of being able to display their status so openly.

Matthew helped Isobel and Mary into the back seat of the taxi, before sitting up front with the driver. They delivered Mary to the Midland Hotel, then Matthew continued on to bring Isobel home, despite her protests that she could manage perfectly well on her own. Mary smiled as she watched the taxi pull away and disappear down the street. She preferred for Matthew to see his mother home. Not only was it the proper thing to do, but it gave her sufficient time to prepare their hotel suite for his return. She nodded to the doorman as she walked briskly into the hotel and headed for the lift.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Royal Suite, Midland Hotel, Manchester, England, December 1915<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew paid the driver and got out of the taxi. He walked up the stairs and nodded to the doorman as he came into the warm lobby of the hotel. He removed his hat and gloves, walking over to the lift with a spring in his step, unable to contain his giddiness. He knew he was acting childish, like some sort of randy teenager, and yet he could not stop himself. As the lift door closed and he watched the needle of the counter move towards his floor, his anticipation grew.<p>

All the other times that they had stayed overnight at the Midland felt precious and stolen, as though they were being granted a moment of grace before having to go back to secrecy and restraint. Now that they were married and Matthew could literally parade Mary around as much as he liked, he found that he actually was more excited about their new situation. It would stand to reason that spending a night with his wife would seem normal and pedestrian now, and not something to even make a fuss over. And yet, from the moment he kissed his mother goodbye and left her house to come back here, he was ridiculously elated.

He turned the key and opened the door, stepping into the suite. He quickly closed and locked the door, placed his coat and shoes in the hall closet, and came into the living room. He frowned as the lights were off. A glow came from the bedroom and he went through, stopping at the doorway.

"Mary?" he asked, then froze.

"Ah, you're back," Mary said, arching her eyebrow at him.

Candles lit throughout the room cast a flickering light across their surroundings. Mary sat on the bed, her silk robe tied about her waist. Matthew stepped towards her, smiling as he deliberately took in the sight of her. Mary gracefully rose up and came over to him, helping him remove his jacket, before working on his cuffs and shirt.

"That was a lovely service," she said casually as she revealed more of his skin to her gaze.

"It was," Matthew nodded, watching and savouring her nimble fingers upon him.

"Shall we exchange gifts?" she asked lightly, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.

"I'm thinking of unwrapping something else at the moment," Matthew growled, his arms encircling her and his lips meeting hers in a fierce kiss.

"So we'll do presents later, then?" Mary smiled, closing her eyes as he pressed kisses across her neck. Her hands found his belt and his found the sash of her robe. They soon divested themselves of further garments, leaving Matthew naked and Mary in her silk chemise.

"Much later," Matthew said against her shoulder as he lifted her up and carried her to bed.

Mary smiled and closed her eyes as she felt his lips on her throat, then her shoulder. His hands moved down her arms, then to her hips. His fingers were still cold from the outdoors, but his breath and mouth were warm, and she shivered in his hold. She felt the kiss of his lips below her waist, and she cried out as he focused completely on her pleasure.

There was always a moment of disbelief whenever she was with Matthew, as though she were enjoying a wonderful dream and she would be pulled back to a harsher reality at any second. Part of it was how she behaved so wantonly with him, completely different from the way she was raised and the prim expectations of women, even married ones. Part of it was his own desperation, his hands pushing her chemise up her body, his mouth attending to her, increasing his tempo by the sounds of her mounting desire, his wolfish stare as he watched her fall apart. She knew him as kind and reserved, timid in some cases, and always under control. When they were alone, it was as though he let go of himself in his hunger to be with her completely, and this behaviour thrilled her, as though it was she who drove this out of him, she who urged him to be so frantic, she who was his best and only lover for the rest of his life.

Matthew's mouth seized hers once more, his tongue sweeping across her teeth. She arched her back as she felt him inside her, over her, around her, her legs holding on to his hips, her arms pinned beneath his hands. They cried out together in bliss and he released her long enough for her to wrap her arms around him and kiss his damp cheek. If this was all a dream, she would cling to it as long as possible and refuse to wake up.

* * *

><p>"Matthew," she said huskily, kissing his back and moving up to his shoulder and neck.<p>

"Mmm, Mary," he answered, remaining still as she massaged his shoulders and fit herself on top of him.

"Darling, we should open our presents," she said, licking his ear.

"I think you've already given me quite the gift," Matthew chuckled, turning his head towards her, but keeping his eyes closed.

"None of your vulgar jokes, please," she scolded him lightly. "Fetch the champagne and you can have your gift."

"All right," Matthew mumbled, stretching out his arms and turning over and away from her. He ran his hand through his hair and roused himself awake as he rose from the bed and wandered over to the ice bucket across the room.

Mary smiled at his nude form, the candlelight and firelight from the hearth dancing across his toned skin. She always felt rather self-conscious about being naked. Proper ladies did not sleep in the nude or walk around bedrooms without clothes. Matthew was gorgeous though, and she allowed herself to leer at him a little, as was her privilege as his wife.

Matthew filled two flutes and brought them back to bed. He handed one to her and they clinked glasses.

"Happy Christmas, darling," he smiled, taking a sip, then leaning towards her.

"Happy Christmas, Matthew. The very best of Christmases," Mary smiled, taking a sip from her own flute, then kissing him lightly.

After another sip, he took the glasses and placed them on the nightstand. Mary presented him with a box wrapped in tissue paper. He grinned as he received it, examining each corner briefly before opening it in earnest.

Inside, he found a silk tie and a package of strawberry seeds.

"Thank you, Mary," Matthew smiled as he touched the soft material of the tie.

"For the fourth wedding anniversary, linen and fruit are suggested," Mary nodded. "So, I had new sheets ordered for the bed we will now be able to share at Downton. I bought the tie when I went for my wedding dress fitting. And of course, as I know how much you love strawberries, this spring we can plant the seeds either at Downton or Crawley House."

"I always enjoy when you spend so much time and effort on me," Matthew grinned, kissing her softly. "Now, your turn," he announced.

He reached over to the nightstand and removed a box wrapped with decorative paper and a large ribbon.

"Not bad," Mary said, looking at his wrapping.

She untied the bow carefully and removed the paper from around the box. She smiled at his exasperated sigh as he waited for her to unwrap her gift.

She finally opened the box and looked at her gift in surprise. She pulled out a pair of soft and elegant slippers, made of silk with light embroidery.

"Thank you, darling," Mary smiled, kissing him.

"I know you have a perfectly sound pair already back at Downton," Matthew said. "But I noticed these when we were in London and I couldn't resist. I hope they're comfortable. I was assured they are quite luxurious."

"They're perfect," Mary smiled. "And they match virtually all of my nightclothes and robes. A very important detail."

"I'm glad you like them," Matthew said. "Now, for your second gift."

"What?" Mary laughed incredulously.

"Well, I wouldn't only get you slippers, Mary," Matthew teased, getting up once again and walking over to the dresser. He pulled open the bottom drawer and removed several boxes, bringing them over to the bed.

"Matthew!" Mary exclaimed, looking at the numerous gifts he placed before her.

"We're married now," Matthew said, coming back to bed and wrapping his arm around her as he stretched out next to her. "I can spoil you as much as I please without fear or reservation. Now, open the next one."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>After passing a week in Manchester, Mary, Matthew and Isobel returned to Downton in time for New Year's Eve. Robert returned from London, but departed the day after New Year's Day, his new assignment at Sandhurst allowing him a brief weekend away before he had to return. He would be part of the training school, preparing new soldiers and testing officers returning to the Army before they were sent off to the various theatres across Europe and Africa. Though it kept him out of danger, Robert was in a melancholy mood most of the time, the thought of what he had endured at the Front and in Turkey still fresh in his mind, and the knowledge that he was sending young men into those exact same perils weighed upon him.<p>

New Year's Eve was therefore a mostly sombre affair. Mary and Matthew provided their Christmas gifts to the family and received polite appreciation from everyone, except for Sybil of course, who gushed over her new journal and fountain pen. They counted down to midnight together in the drawing room, as was traditional, and though Matthew only gave Mary a chaste kiss, to be able to do so in front of the rest of the family was yet another happy moment between them. They had a proper kiss later on in the privacy of their bedroom.

Matthew was able to extract Robert's promise to return for the Servants' Ball. Carson was threatening to cancel it, given that with Lord Grantham away, it did not make much sense to hold it as usual. But with some particularly forceful cajoling from the Dowager Countess, Matthew encouraged Robert to rearrange part of his schedule to come back to Downton Abbey for two days later in January.

With their marriage now official and known, Mary indulged in the usual privileges of a married woman that she was unable to partake in when they first returned to Downton Abbey. Accordingly, she took her breakfast in bed in the morning, just as Cora did, leaving Matthew to have breakfast in the morning room with Edith and Sybil. The three of them enjoyed some rather spirited discussions without the watchful eye of Robert or Cora around to censor them.

Mary also began wearing her tiara more often, and Matthew had to admit that the sight of it was quite pleasing. He always wore a bit of a lopsided grin when they left their bedroom to go downstairs, seeing Mary with her tiara and wedding rings, a nightly affirmation that she was his wife and that finally they were allowed the simple pleasure of living together under the same roof.

"That was a long telephone conversation," Mary stated as Matthew came into their bedroom. "Who was it?"

"John Simon," Matthew sighed, coming over to the bed and collapsing back on to it. "He's resigned."

"What?" Mary asked, turning in her seat and looking at him with concern. "Why?"

"Over the conscription bill," Matthew said, rising up to a sitting position. "It's not a surprise really. The Derby Scheme was just as bad as we expected, so the next logical step was conscription, and John always said he could never support it if it was forced upon the public."

"So what will he do now?" Mary asked.

"Continue in Parliament as a Liberal," Matthew said. "I don't know how far ahead he's thought, really. He's still trying to fit things together."

"The way things are going, this coalition government may not see the Spring," Mary sighed, turning back to her vanity. "At least Papa isn't going back to France or any place else anytime soon, God willing."

"Have you seen him?" Matthew asked.

"Briefly," Mary rolled her eyes. "He's probably downstairs having a drink and preparing for his opening dance with Mrs. Hughes."

"Mrs. Hughes is a joy," Matthew muttered. "He should try partnering O'Brien if he has any complaint."

"I'm sure he's aware, darling," Mary smiled, rising from her chair and coming over to him. "Now, let's go down. You'll dance with Anna, won't you? She never seems to enjoy herself much at these things because…well, you know."

"I will," Matthew nodded. "But I think Anna enjoys herself quite well. During my first Servants' Ball, I asked her to dance and she refused because she was too busy talking to Bates."

"That was just a misunderstanding," Mary smiled, shaking her head as they walked down the hall. "I'm afraid I may have turned her against you with some of my comments back then."

"What? Mary!" Matthew frowned. "You convinced your lady's maid to hate me?"

"Well I didn't expect her to take everything I said so literally!" Mary defended herself, smiling all the while.

"We'll discuss this later," Matthew said. "And I'll think of an appropriate punishment for your loose tongue."

Mary blushed as they went downstairs to the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>"How are you, my dear?" Isobel smiled, taking a seat next to Mary.<p>

"Fine, thank you," Mary nodded. "I was about to come over and ask you the same thing. You seemed ensconced with Granny though."

"I never envisioned myself being friends with a Dowager Countess," Isobel smiled. "And I am not entirely sure if we are friends rather than merely lunch and tea companions. However, I do enjoy spending time with her. I am also in need of her assistance, as well as that of Cora and you and your sisters."

"Whatever for? That sounds serious," Mary said.

"It is, but it can wait for another time," Isobel smiled.

They both looked out on the dance floor. Cora was dancing with the footman, William and Matthew was dancing with Daisy, the kitchen maid.

"I can't help but wonder what will befall all of the young men here in a few months time," Isobel said.

Mary nodded. "Matthew says that all men between the ages of 18 and 40-something may be called up. That would put William on the cusp of it."

"I'm even concerned for Molesley. I can't picture him as a soldier, to be honest," Isobel said.

"I can't picture any of them at War, including Matthew," Mary shook her head.

"Well, it's a blessing that he's married then, isn't it?" Isobel smiled.

Mary smiled back. She turned her head and noticed Molesley making his way across the room towards them.

"Uh oh. Here he comes, to claim his prize," Mary said playfully.

"Mrs. Crawley," Molesley bowed respectfully. "May I have the honour of this dance?"

Isobel smiled and rose to her feet. "Of course. I was wondering when you were going to get to me, Molesley."

"Please do not misread my delay for disinterest, Mrs. Crawley," Molesley nodded, offering her his arm.

"I wouldn't think of it," Isobel said, allowing her valet to escort her on to the dance floor.

As they began dancing to the new song, Matthew crossed the floor. He caught Mary's eye and winked at her, motioning with his head towards Anna, who was standing next to a seated Bates. Mary watched with interest as Matthew approached them.

"Bates," Matthew nodded as he arrived.

"Mr. Crawley, sir," Bates said, beginning to rise from his chair. "Are you retiring early?"

"Not at all, Bates. Please, sit down. Do not trouble yourself on my account," Matthew smiled.

"Thank you, sir," Bates nodded, sitting back down.

"I actually had a question for you, Bates," Matthew continued, glancing over to Mary to ensure she was paying attention.

"Yes, sir? How may I help you?" Bates asked as Anna stood by silently.

"The thing is, Bates, I would very much like to ask Anna to dance, but I won't do so without first obtaining your permission. My intentions are entirely honourable, in the spirit of tonight's Ball only."

Bates blinked in surprise. Anna gasped slightly.

"I believe that Anna can make her own decisions in that regard, sir," Bates said nervously.

"Oh, I am quite sure that she can, Bates," Matthew said easily. "But I would not want to cause her to be uncomfortable and force her to accept my invitation out of duty, and I would not want her to feel obligated to dance with me when she would prefer to spend time with you, so before I can ask her properly, I must have your approval. Should you wish to withhold it, say so and I shall retreat."

Bates and Anna shared a fearful glance before Bates recovered and smiled to Matthew politely.

"I have no objection at all, sir. Anna does enjoy dancing," Bates said.

"Good. Thank you, Bates," Matthew said brightly. "And if I may say so, I hope that you concern yourself with Anna's happiness more closely this year."

Bates' mouth dropped open in surprise. Before he could say anything further, Matthew turned to Anna and offered her his arm.

"Anna, may I please have the honour of this dance?" Matthew asked.

Anna looked at Bates, then caught a glimpse of Mary's smiling face in the background. She gave Matthew a polite smile and nodded her head.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawley, sir," Anna swallowed.

Matthew took Anna on to the dance floor and swept her into hold at a respectable distance. They began waltzing together to the music and Matthew looked down at her with a smile.

"Sir, I do appreciate you and Lady Mary being so interested in my…social life…but it's nothing to trouble yourselves with," Anna stammered.

"Nonsense, Anna," Matthew replied. "Mary cares for you and for your happiness, which means both are very important to me as well. You do not owe us any explanation, but if you and Bates wish to come to an…understanding…then I have an inkling that Bates may need a bit of a nudge in that direction. And my wife is quite adept at nudging, as I'm sure you're aware."

"I am, sir, yes," Anna smiled genuinely. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Anna," Matthew said. "Neither of us had very many friends when we arrived here, as you know. I am grateful to you for being one to Mary."

"Certainly, sir," Anna nodded. "And if I may so, I am ever so glad that the two of you are married, sir."

"As am I, Anna," Matthew smiled back.

* * *

><p>Matthew came out of his dressing room, smiling as he found Mary sitting up in bed waiting for him.<p>

"You're here," he smirked, removing his robe and crawling into bed beside her. "I wasn't sure that you would be. You and Carson seemed intent on dancing until dawn."

"I had one dance with Carson. One," Mary rolled her eyes. "I had five with you, which I will point out is more than is expected. It's a Servants' Ball, Matthew. We're supposed to dance with them, not with each other."

"Just be thankful I didn't whisk you upstairs earlier in the evening," Matthew replied, kissing her shoulder. "I was thinking about it, you know."

"When?" Mary asked, leaning her head back to give him easier access to her neck.

"After I finished my turn with O'Brien," Matthew mumbled against her skin.

"Matthew, that was the first dance!" Mary laughed, slapping at his chest lightly.

"I did my duty and I saw no reason to stay any longer," Matthew said innocently. "The only reason we remained was because I knew you wanted to dance with your beloved butler."

"And because your mother was here, and it would have been entirely rude, let alone scandalous," Mary shot back.

"You should know full well by now that I have no fear of scandal where you are concerned, Lady Mary," Matthew said, wrapping his arm across her waist as he snuggled closer.

"Is that why you weren't put off by those boys gossiping about me at our wedding reception in Manchester?" Mary asked lightly.

Matthew stopped and pulled back, his eyes wide.

"How did you know about that?" Matthew asked.

"I guessed quite easily," Mary said. "They were staring at me throughout the afternoon and whispering to each other. I expect it was not to compliment me on my dress."

"Oh, Mary," Matthew shook his head. "I'm very sorry for that, but I put them right. You must believe that."

"Of course I believe you, darling," Mary smiled, caressing his cheek. "But you don't need to go around convincing the entire world as to my virtue. We're married now, properly, and while I do care what people think of me, I don't care enough to let it bother me."

"I'm so glad," Matthew smiled, kissing her lightly. "I just don't want you to have to endure any ridicule or shame over a lie that was not your fault."

"Some of the glances and gossip can be unnerving," Mary admitted, looking down at her lap. "Regardless of whether my story is true or not, it's out there, and probably always will be. We just need to live our lives and not let it affect us."

"I agree," Matthew nodded. "Though to hear some of the rumours was ghastly."

"What did they hear?" Mary asked. "The version where I engaged in all manner of debauchery with Mr. Pamuk and a valet at the same time, or was it that I entertained a different man in my bedroom on consecutive nights?"

Matthew sighed in disappointment. "You've heard of those?"

"Those are some of the tamer ones, sadly," Mary shrugged. "I believe that all Cousin James secretly passed along in the beginning was that I slept with Mr. Pamuk under my father's roof. But he knew very well that Society would escalate that lie into an entirely different myth the more it was passed around, and he was right. The rumour about the foreigner and his valet came next, then speculation that I had done this sort of thing before with other guests who came to visit, and a particularly sordid one was that I was pregnant with a bastard child and was being sent to Istanbul to join Mr. Pamuk's harem."

"Oh my darling," Matthew said, kissing her cheek. "To live with all of that, I can't begin to imagine."

"Those early days in Manchester, when anyone would look at me, either at the hospital, or in the market, even passing by on the street, I was paranoid that they knew me somehow, that they heard something about me, and they were judging me – there's that girl, the one who spreads her legs for any man," Mary shook her head.

"Mary," Matthew whispered, kissing her neck.

"Do you see how you and your family saved me, Matthew?" Mary said softly, turning towards him. "I thought that would be my life. Enduring harsh stares and venomous accusations, working under Cassandra and living at Lady Philomena's until Godfather became bored or Granny stopped sending money and I was cast out. Can you understand just how much I love you for just being kind in those early days?"

"I suppose we're both lucky that Papa just happened to be wandering by the storeroom at that exact moment on your first day," Matthew smiled.

"Thank God that he did," Mary smiled, leaning over and kissing him.

"Do you know what rumour I have heard about you, Lady Mary?" Matthew said, easing her slowly on to her back, his eyes mischievous as he moved above her.

"What is that?" Mary asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I've heard that you don't have a heart," Matthew challenged, lowering his head and kissing her neck between phrases. "That you are cold…careful…calculating…"

"Mmm," Mary smiled, closing her eyes. "I've heard that one. I'm some sort of siren who devours men alive; isn't that how it goes?"

"If one is to believe what one hears, then yes," Matthew answered, pulling the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder.

"And you think that you can keep up with me, do you?" Mary asked lightly, her hands reaching down and squeezing his bottom.

"There is something alluring about living dangerously," Matthew said, kissing her collarbone. "To have the glory of being the man able to tame such an alleged seductress."

"And if you're wrong, then I'll leave you in a quivering heap and add you to my collection of trophies, Matthew," Mary smiled.

"That is the risk I shall have to take, I suppose," Matthew breathed, pulling her nightgown down over her breasts and to her waist.

"Then prepare yourself, darling," Mary smiled, reaching her hand down between them and taking hold of him.

Matthew gasped and looked at her wicked eyes.

"You don't stand a chance," Mary smirked before pushing him over on to his back.


	30. Chapter 30

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1916**_

* * *

><p>"Is it official?" Sybil asked nervously. "I've seen the posters saying that any man wanting an exemption had to apply by today."<p>

"The Act came into force this morning," Matthew nodded. "Any man between the ages of 18 and 41 who isn't married, widowed with children, or subject to a few other exceptions, is liable to be called."

"How soon could that happen?" Edith asked.

"Any day now," Matthew said, sipping his wine. "It's no secret that the Army is lacking in numbers. They need as many new soldiers as they can get. As it stands, it takes months to train them, so they won't likely see live action until the Summer."

"Yet another reality of War that is entirely morbid," Violet huffed. "Training. As though months of running around should prepare one adequately for one's own death."

"Granny," Mary rolled her eyes.

"I agree with Cousin Violet," Isobel shrugged. "But there really is no alternative. With more countries entering the fray, the Allies are at a disadvantage."

"At least numerically," Cora added.

"What does your mother say about all this? Why won't the Americans come and bolster the ranks?" Violet asked pointedly.

"The Canadians have been fighting since the beginning," Mary noted, slicing her potatoes. "So it can't be that they need to cross the Atlantic."

"Mama says that the American government feels it's a European problem," Cora sighed.

"The one time that they don't shove their noses into something," Granny arched her eyebrows.

"We should prepare for a number of servants and villagers leaving imminently," Matthew said. "None of them are exempt."

"What about Dr. Clarkson?" Sybil asked.

"He's already enlisted, despite his being over 41. He was in the medical corps before," Isobel replied.

Matthew looked at Mary, the two of them sharing a brief glance. They were grateful that their marriage had saved Matthew from being subject to the new law, but they were well aware of the reality facing them. If the response did not get the Army the numbers that they needed, or worse yet, if casualties continued to mount, then married men would not be spared for much longer.

The family continued their dinner, each one absorbed with their own private thoughts on what the War and the call to arms would mean. Carson stood stoically near the door, but his own mind was running, wondering how many more male servants he would lose and how he would compensate for them and still maintain his strict and exact standards.

Robert's chair continued to sit empty.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Crawley House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, May, 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Thank you again for the strawberries," Isobel said to her son as she set the small basket of fruit aside. Matthew sat quietly in his chair, sipping his tea and looking at the carpet. This was the first batch picked from the seeds that he and Mary had planted back in December. The fruit was quite small as planting in winter was hardly ideal, but for a first go, Isobel found them perfectly fine.<p>

"I'm sure that Mrs. Bird will have plenty of ideas to whip these up into something scrumptious. She's still trying to get back at Mrs. Patmore over her strawberry shortcake that won raves last Summer," Isobel smiled.

"Hmm," Matthew said quietly.

"Or perhaps we'll merely tie them all together and wear them about as necklaces and bracelets. It's rather practical, don't you think? We'll always have a snack close at hand," Isobel said, watching Matthew carefully.

"Whatever you wish, Mother," Matthew said with a sigh.

"For God's sake, Matthew!" Isobel clapped her hands.

Matthew raised his head suddenly and stared at her in confusion. He looked at the basket of strawberries, then the annoyed look on his mother's face. He smiled wryly and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I wasn't paying attention," Matthew said quietly.

"No, you were not," Isobel nodded. "Now what has you so distracted?"

"I spoke to John Simon today. He called to give me some rather disturbing news, though it isn't a shock. The government are going to be introducing a new Bill to have married men be liable to be called up to War," Matthew explained.

"I see," Isobel muttered, her worst fears realized. They had heard the rumours even before the first Military Service Act was passed at the beginning of the year, but she hoped it would be at least another year before the government ordered more men to battle.

"The first wave wasn't enough, apparently," Matthew continued. "John suspects that they're gearing up for a large scale offensive and they want as many men as they can muster. Despite the last Bill, we're still behind France and Russia in terms of numbers."

"My goodness," Isobel shook her head.

Matthew sipped his tea.

"It all seems rather unfair," Isobel said. "You were just married in December."

Matthew looked over at her and smiled ruefully.

"You know that isn't true," Matthew frowned. "And there is very little that is fair about War. I'm sure there are many couples who are even more aggrieved by this than we are."

"I should like to meet them," Isobel scoffed. "Spending the first years of your marriage living apart and in secret, seeing each other only a handful of times a week, then coming here and continuing the charade, you haven't had four years of a normal marriage, Matthew."

"Nothing about us is normal, Mother," Matthew laughed. "And I do not regret any of the moments I've had with Mary. I thought of her as my wife from the moment we first met, so the precise number of days we've been allowed to act properly as husband and wife isn't important."

"Even still, you are worried about her," Isobel said calmly.

"She's strong," Matthew said. "She's proven herself capable of enduring without me before, but I hate to see her tested so many times."

Isobel nodded sadly as Matthew looked away.

"What do I do?" Matthew asked, glancing across to his father's portrait on the mantle.

Isobel smiled. "Your father would tell you to not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow already will have its own worries."

Matthew turned to her and smiled in recollection.

"I expect I'll be called shortly, a week or two at most. They tend to want officers to come from the upper classes. Training will take two or three months, so I'll still be in England, but I won't be able to come home," Matthew sighed.

"You'll be with Cousin Robert," Isobel mentioned. "Perhaps he could arrange for you to be free on weekends?"

"I doubt it," Matthew shook his head. "He's one of several training officers at Sandhurst. They wouldn't assign me to his supervision. It would look too much like nepotism."

"My boy, in case you have not learned from our time here, nepotism is a way of life among the aristocracy," Isobel frowned.

Matthew laughed.

"Well, I had best make the most of these next days then," he said bravely. "I don't know how I'm going to break the news to…"

"Lady Mary Crawley," Molesley announced as he came into the parlour.

Matthew bolted to his feet as his wife came into the room.

"Mary!" he exclaimed.

"Matthew," Mary smiled politely. "Isobel," she said to her mother-in-law.

"What a wonderful surprise," Isobel smiled motioning to the chair next to Matthew.

Mary sat down and waited patiently as Molesley poured her a cup of tea. Once the valet was dismissed and left the room, closing the door behind him, she finally spoke up.

"You've gotten careless now that our marriage is out in the open, darling," she teased, looking at Matthew pointedly. "Leaving so abruptly after your supposedly private telephone conversation revealed exactly what the call was about."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "So you know," he said.

"It wasn't difficult to read your notes," Mary frowned, showing him the piece of paper that he had scribbled notes of his conversation with John Simon on.

"I must have left it in the parlour by accident," Matthew shook his head.

"I was telling Matthew how unfair all of this is. The two of you have just now been able to stop running around in secret, and now this," Isobel said.

"It is," Mary nodded. "Though wallowing won't accomplish anything."

"Now you sound like Papa," Matthew grumbled.

"Well, I am his daughter-in-law," Mary smirked.

"It's important that we continue the work that we've been doing on the Estate, now more than ever," Matthew nodded, looking at both women. "I'm actually pleased we have less staff to deal with at the moment, but everything we've planned for the next year must go ahead."

"Labour may be an issue," Mary said. "We lost another fellow who was working the pig farm last week. He left for Sandhurst yesterday."

"Work out whatever you can with the time you have left," Isobel said firmly. "Mary and I will see it done."

Matthew nodded in thanks. The three of them drank their tea, hoping that Matthew's call was well into the future, but knowing it was likely closer than any of them wanted.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, June 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Sir," Carson nodded as Matthew came into the Great Hall. "Lady Mary has asked that you go and see her in the library upon your return, sir."<p>

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew nodded, changing direction and walking to the library.

Matthew closed the doors behind him as he came into the library. Mary was facing away from him, standing over a table and looking at a book. She turned her head as he approached.

"The doors are supposed to remain open during the day, Matthew," she said lightly.

"Not for what I have in mind," Matthew smiled, wrapping his arms across her waist and kissing her cheek.

"So, how are the pigs? I only ask since you are perspiring like one," she laughed.

"And yet, you do nothing to push me away," Matthew smiled, holding her close. "Could the delicate Lady Mary have an affection for the musk of a man?"

"Hardly," Mary rolled her eyes. "But whether you sweat or not, you still smell middle class. I suppose that I've gotten used to it over the years."

"You naughty minx," Matthew said, tickling her sides. "May I remind you that it was not I who changed bedpans as part of my occupation?"

"Stop it, Matthew!" Mary laughed, swatting at his hands. "How dare you insult the fine nursing profession?"

"I have no argument with nurses at all," Matthew joked. "I have rather vivid memories of being treated very well by a nurse's assistant in the unused patient rooms of the Royal Infirmary."

"Thank goodness the doors are closed for all the scandalous words coming out of your mouth," Mary smirked, turning and kissing him lightly.

"Now, before I do something drastic such as ravishing you here on this sofa, why did you summon me, wife?" Matthew asked, kissing her neck.

"I have news," Mary said, turning in his hold and placing her arms on his shoulders. "It concerns your pending call to the Army."

"Have you heard anything from Robert?" Matthew asked, frowning at the subject.

"You know that I would probably be the last person that Papa would speak to. If I answered the telephone and it was him, he'd probably rather speak to Bates," Mary huffed.

"Now, now," Matthew said patiently.

"Anyway, no, I haven't heard from Papa. But, while we do not know precisely when you will have to leave yet, it is very important that you request your first leave to coincide with January next."

"My first leave?" Matthew repeated incredulously. "Darling, I'm hardly in a position to make demands before I am even officially in the Army. Besides, wouldn't you want me here in December?"

"I always want you, regardless of the month," Mary shook her head. "However I'll need you more than ever in January."

"Why January of all months? What could possibly be happening seven months from…" Matthew asked.

He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening as he stared at Mary.

Mary smiled, then grinned as she watched realization dawn on her husband's face.

"Are you? Will we? Is it? January?" Matthew stammered.

"I'm with child. Our child," Mary nodded, her eyes bright. "Were going to have a baby, Matthew."

Matthew laughed merrily, scooping Mary up off her feet and spinning them around. Mary laughed along with him, holding on to his neck as he scampered over to the sofa and sat down, holding her in his lap.

"God, Mary," he laughed, kissing her over and over. "A baby!"

"A baby," Mary replied between kisses, stroking his hair.

* * *

><p>Their news was met with joyful reactions at the dinner table that night. Sybil had cheered the loudest of course. Edith merely smiled. Cora grinned proudly and Violet and Isobel remained composed but clearly happy. The family had now gotten used to the idea of Mary and Matthew being married, and to hear that a baby was on the way was far more welcome than their initial revelation about their past had been.<p>

"Do you know how far along you are, Mary?" Sybil asked, grinning widely.

"About two months," Mary nodded. "Though it's impossible to know for certain."

"We may have a Christmas baby, then," Cora nodded. "How lovely!"

"It has been quite a while since a child has roamed these halls," Violet smiled, glancing over at Sybil, then at Mary. "Very welcome news, my dear."

"Why, Granny," Edith smiled. "I didn't take you for the nostalgic type."

"That's the duty of all grandmothers, isn't it?" Isobel smiled. "To reminisce fondly on the past?"

"I am not entirely fond of the past that I can remember," Violet said.

Matthew looked at Mary and chuckled.

"Well, a toast then," Cora declared, lifting her glass and the rest of the table followed. "To the next generation of Crawleys."

Matthew raised his glass in Mary's direction. The worries of tomorrow could wait, including when he was going to War and whether or not he would be back in time to see the birth of his child. For now, he sat with his wife and family in Downton Abbey, and there was a great deal to look forward to.

* * *

><p>"You were surprised by how happy everyone was for us," Matthew smiled, lying on his side in bed.<p>

"Without Papa here, I knew that everyone would give us their well wishes. It's the proper thing to do," Mary huffed, glancing at her reflection in the full length mirror.

"Do you believe they are secretly aghast at our news?" Matthew smirked.

"No, of course not," Mary sighed. "I suppose that after all we've been through, I can't help but be guarded about anything involving my family."

Mary turned side to side, clearly examining her profile in the mirror.

"Come to bed," Matthew smiled. "You look gorgeous."

Mary rolled her eyes and turned around. She pulled the blankets back and settled in next to Matthew.

"I don't see any difference yet," she said.

"Do you feel any differently?" Matthew asked, drawing her into his arms.

"Sometimes," Mary said. "Nothing significant. I've felt ill a few times in the past weeks. It passes rather quickly."

"Good," Matthew said, kissing her cheek. "Count yourself lucky then."

"I can't help thinking of all those mothers that your father helped while I worked in Manchester," Mary smiled, snuggling closer to him. "They were so elated when he gave them the news that they were pregnant."

"It was one of the happier tasks that he and Mother had. They didn't practice in that area, but they did come across it from time to time," Matthew said.

"I'm bracing myself for all sorts of advice," Mary sighed. "I expect that we'll need to refurbish one of the nurseries, and I'll need Mrs. Hughes to search for a Nanny at some point."

"Perhaps this will draw you and your Mama closer," Matthew said, kissing her neck.

"I wouldn't count on it, though it will be something we can all share in without it being too contentious," Mary said.

She smiled as his hands moved across her body.

"Darling, I'm pregnant," she chided him.

Matthew leaned back slightly. "Yes, and? Are you saying you don't want to?"

"Well, I just think we need to be careful," she said.

"I can be careful," Matthew smiled, moving back to kissing her shoulder.

"Matthew," she laughed.

"I can be very careful," Matthew smiled, his hand ghosting beneath the blankets and taking hold of the hem of her nightgown. "Trust me, darling. You won't feel a thing."

"Well I would hope that I would feel something!" Mary laughed.

Matthew stopped and frowned at her. "You are supposed to be falling under my spell of seduction. Stop making jokes," he growled.

"Very well," Mary said lightly. She closed her eyes as Matthew resumed his ministrations. "Do your worst," she grinned as he lifted her nightgown up her body.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Station, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, July 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew watched the train approach from down the track, the steam puffing along was always hypnotic, and it gave him something to focus on. Everyone on the platform nodded at him politely and with due respect as it was the first time he had worn his newly tailored military uniform. It was sent to him along with the confirmation of his commission, which made him feel strange. He expected that he would be kitted up when he reached Sandhurst, and he had half a mind to keep it stowed in his luggage until then.<p>

The air was still and slightly cold despite it being Summer. He sighed as he watched the train pull to a stop and passengers move here and there. Some disembarked. Other boarded. He wondered how many of them were experiencing as profound a change in their lives as he was. He'd left a warm bed and his sleeping wife before dawn, quietly slipping away. He said his goodbyes last night at dinner, and spoken to all of the servants. He did not want the ceremony of a sending off as Robert had done. His train was leaving very early for one, and for another, it made him uncomfortable to pass from one person to another as though it was the last time he'd be seeing them.

When Robert left the first time, it was as though he was going off on adventure. Everyone was far more optimistic back then and bullish on the prospects of the Allies. The War would be over by Christmas. Isn't that what they said? Now it was almost two years later and there was no end in sight and countless lives had been snuffed out before their time. Going to War was no longer a grand occasion to be celebrated. Robert had said it himself – it was all about survival now.

Matthew blinked several times as he saw a figure emerge from the steam coming off the train. She wandered the platform, glancing anxiously at each car as she went. Matthew didn't dare believe his eyes as he just stared at her. When her eyes found his, she smiled and walked deliberately towards him.

"Mary?" he smiled in surprise, closing the distance between them quickly and taking her in his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Matthew," she whispered, hugging him close. "I had to come see you off."

"You should be in bed. It's early, still," he said, drawing back and looking at her. "I was up before some of the servants."

"They were rather shocked to see me awake," Mary smiled. "I know that we said our goodbyes last night, but there was something I forgot to give you."

Matthew smiled and released her so she could open her purse. Last night had been difficult for both of them. They'd made love, then both broken into bouts of crying during the night. He would wake up startled, taking several seconds to confirm that she was still with him, and she would do the same. When it finally came time for him to leave, he'd kissed her as she slept and stared at her before finally pulling away.

Mary removed a small toy dog and handed it to him.

"It's my good luck charm, and I've had it always. I want you to take it with you, as a token, so you remember our son," Mary nodded.

Matthew took the dog and stared at it.

"I've never seen this before," he said.

"I brought it with me to Manchester, but never unpacked it," Mary nodded. "It was enough to know I had it, and it certainly worked for me there, so now it can bring you some good luck."

"Thank you, Mary, but I have no need to be reminded of you or our child. Won't you need it?"

"Not as much as you," Mary said, swallowing as she fought back her tears. "You must bring it back without a scratch,"

"I'll be fine," Matthew nodded, looking at her eyes. "I'll be in training for the next while. It'll be as though I'm in London."

Mary nodded, refusing to discuss what may happen after he was done training. They both had read the same reports. Soldiers fresh out of training had been sent to France to support the latest push by the Allies. Some had been mowed down in their first charges, killed having just set foot on foreign soil.

"Goodbye, my darling," Matthew said, embracing her again. "I love you, and God Bless you."

"I love you, Matthew," Mary said, holding him tight. "And so does our son."

"Darling, it could be a girl, you know," Matthew smiled, drawing back slightly.

"I know," Mary nodded. "But I think it's a boy."

"Then I will say it's a girl," Matthew smiled. "That way I have extra incentive to find out which one of us is right."

Mary stepped towards him again and kissed him firmly, not caring who was watching them.

Matthew hugged her close, then finally released her. The whistle blew sharply and he touched her arm one last time before turning and boarding the train. As he sat down in his seat, he turned and waved to her.

Mary stood on the platform, waving back at him. She continued to gaze at him as the train pulled away. She smiled for him, determined not to cry and barely succeeding.

Matthew watched her until the platform passed into the distance. She had remained stoic and composed, despite the emotions swirling inside both of them. Matthew removed his hat and sighed. If she could be strong, then so could he, he though with determination as the train wound its way towards London.

* * *

><p><em><strong>War Office, Whitehall, London, England, July 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Lord Flintshire, it's Colonel Crawley on the phone for you, sir," the secretary announced, poking her head around the door of the office.<p>

"Thank you," Lord Flintshire said gruffly, reaching for the telephone.

"Robert," he said brusquely. "How are you?"

"Well, Shrimpy, thank you," Robert said, looking out the window at another batch of recruits running past. "I won't take up your time. I was checking on whether you had news of Matthew?"

"He's scheduled to be arriving there later today," Shrimpy nodded. "I was able to put off his being called up for an extra month, but that was the best I could do."

"Of course, of course," Robert said. "Thank you, Shrimpy. We all appreciate it."

"Well, it's the best I could do. Please let Cousin Violet know that I did try," Shrimpy sighed.

"She already knows from our previous discussion, and you have her gratitude, as well as mine," Robert said crisply.

"Good day, Robert," Shrimpy said.

"Good day," Robert replied.

Robert hung up the phone and got up from his desk. He hadn't seen Matthew's name on any list that crossed his desk recently. He must have been assigned to one of the other officers, which was probably for the best. Even though Mary and Matthew were not aware, he'd done all he could to try and shield his heir from War. There was no getting around it now. Matthew would be part of the Army, and his fate, and that of their family, would lie in his hands from now on.

Robert turned back from the window and sat back down at his desk. He smiled, remembering Cora's letter and the news that Mary was pregnant. He expected it would happen, of course, but reading it for himself had made him smile. He instructed Cora to pass along his congratulations, but he knew Mary would think he was just doing his duty, saying what was expected of him as her father. She probably expected he was hoping for a boy, and truthfully he was, but the idea that he would have a grandchild in several months time thrilled him. Since going to War, he began thinking in terms of months rather than years in advance, and the thought that he would live to see the Grantham line continue was wonderful news indeed.

Robert sighed and opened the next folder on his desk. Matthew might soon have an heir. It was the kind of news to dance a jig over. Now Matthew had to survive the War, for all of their sakes.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, Berkshire, England, July 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew stood with the other recruits as they listened to their new training officer. He had not seen Robert since he'd arrived, though he was relieved that his father-in-law was not his direct supervisor. Having to explain why he shared the same last name would have been both awkward and invited all manner of teasing, to say nothing for accusations of nepotism. As he glanced around at all the young faces, he wondered whether Robert could truly assist him in any event. It wasn't as though the Earl could help him run faster or do the exercises any better simply by being related to him.<p>

Captain Joseph Stanhope had been Master at Harrow County School for Boys, and spoke to them as though they were first year students, rather than grown men. In a way, it was appropriate, as Matthew was one of the older men in this group.

"An officer is a gentleman ... and a gentleman is an officer," Captain Stanhope said. "You will all proceed to the office for paperwork and a medical physical. Dismissed."

Matthew saluted along with the rest of the group, then turned to head for the office.

"Now they're going to poke and prod us, eh?" a soft voice muttered.

Matthew turned and smiled wryly at the young man next to him.

"I'm Joshua Wilcox," the man said, sticking out his hand. He reminded Matthew of the young man that had up until recently worked on the pig farm before he had been called up.

"Matthew Crawley," he replied. "They just want to make sure we're healthy enough to survive training."

"And what about after that?" Joshua asked.

"There's no tests to see if we'll survive that, I'm afraid," Matthew shrugged.

They walked in silence to the imposing administration building. Once inside all the recruits were issued packets of forms to fill out before proceeding to their medical assessments. Matthew and Joshua found seats in the large classroom. Matthew placed his envelope on the desk and noticed it was considerably thicker than those of the men around him.

"I'm glad that's not mine," Joshua said as he noticed the difference. "Good luck with that."

Matthew nodded as he removed a stack of papers. As he went through the questionnaire, he felt as though he were writing a university exam rather than just filling in information. There were logic games, puzzles and maths questions that he expected some would find quite difficult. He reminded himself that it wasn't a competition and was probably just an assessment of certain skills. Despite having more pages to get through, he finished before young Joshua beside him.

Matthew brought his paperwork to the officer at the front of the room and handed in his work.

"Crawley, Crawley," the officer muttered as he checked over a list. "The medical examiner is running behind with his assessments," the officer said without looking up. "Report to the chaplain instead," he ordered.

Matthew frowned at the instruction, but the officer did not look up. Matthew turned and headed for the chapel, noticing that his packet was handed by the officer to another man, who briskly couriered it out of the classroom.

The chapel was a beautiful structure, rather out of place in the military environment. He found the place empty as he came in. Wandering about, he looked at the stain glass windows for a moment, before he turned at the sound of someone coming in.

"Mr. Crawley, this way please," the man said.

Matthew followed him as he walked past the altar and through a door. They went down a narrow hallway to an office. The man sat down behind a desk and motioned for Matthew to take a seat. Matthew sat down as the man took out what appeared to be Matthew's assessment package and began reading it.

Matthew sat still, growing increasingly anxious as the man flipped the pages. The man would pause and glance at particular answers, make small grunting noises or raise his eyebrow, then keep reading. When he man finished reading through the package, he flipped back to the beginning and did it again. Matthew found the entire exercise rather unnerving, but remained seated and quiet.

"Reverend William Montgomery," the man said finally, looking up at Matthew.

"Reverend," Matthew nodded.

"Do you know what an acrostic is, Matthew?" he asked.

"It's a word puzzle," Matthew answered, frowning at what seemed like a random question.

"Indeed it is. And how do you solve a Caesar cipher?" the Reverend asked.

"It's a substitution cipher; typically to solve it you adjust any given part by one letter or one number in sequential order. If number one is written, for example, it represents the number two."

"And you were a lawyer in your previous life?" Reverend Montgomery asked.

"I still am one," Matthew said.

"Of course you are," Reverend Montgomery smiled.

"You're the heir to the Earl of Grantham, aren't you? Your country house is at Downton Abbey in Yorkshire?" he asked.

"Yes," Matthew nodded. He was suspicious as to where all of this was going, but he expected that the Army and the government knew a great deal about him already, so there was no reason to deflect any of these questions.

"And is it true that you invested in Marconi's Wireless in 1914?" Reverend Montgomery asked, looking over a sheet of paper.

"Yes," Matthew replied in confusion. He did not see the relevance of that, but he expected that the man already knew the answer.

"Shrewd," Reverend Montgomery commented, smiling as he put the paper down.

"Thank you," Matthew replied carefully.

"Why did you become a lawyer, Matthew?" the Reverend asked. "Was it for the money?"

"No," Matthew shook his head. "My parents wanted me to become a doctor, actually, but I enjoyed the law even before university. I liked how it involved problem solving, each case presenting a unique set of facts that when analyzed in the context of past case decisions helped one arrive at a conclusion."

"A logical conclusion, yes?" Reverend Montgomery suggested.

"Not always, no," Matthew said. "Laws are still passed by politicians and applied by judges, so there can be a lack of logic in anything that involves men."

Reverend Montgomery smiled mysteriously.

"Here is what I want to do for you, Matthew," he said. "I'm with the Admiralty. We have a small department in Whitehall that we've put together for people like you. The group has civilians and military personnel, all with one goal in mind – problem solving. Specifically, we analyze and attempt to decode ciphers and coded messages intercepted from the other side. It isn't a perfect science, of course, but we try and identify individuals who have the skills we think will help us. You're a lawyer, Matthew, which is why we tested you. Most lawyers don't score nearly as high as you do on logical reasoning or reading comprehension. I think that makes you an ideal candidate."

"You're with Naval Intelligence," Matthew said slowly.

"Precisely," Reverend Montgomery smiled. "Now, you still need to go through basic training, but once you're done, you'll be sent to London and stationed there until you help us win the War."

Matthew swallowed, his eyes widening at the implications.

"Unless you would rather go off and get yourself killed in a trench somewhere in France?" Revered Montgomery asked.

"No, sir!" Matthew blurted out. "I…thank you for the offer, sir."

"You're welcome, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery smiled, rising from his chair and shaking Matthew's hand. "We'll give you the official orientation in a few weeks, but I don't think it's too premature to say – Welcome to Room 40."

Matthew thanked the man again and saluted as he was dismissed. He walked out of the room and back down the hall as if in a trance. He did not know what was more stunning – that he would be staying in London and not going to the Front, or that he would be working in codebreaking for the government.

As he left the chapel, Matthew put his hand in his pocket. Mary's toy dog felt soft and warm in his hand. He looked up at the sky and smiled. Such good luck, indeed.

* * *

><p>"Enter," Robert said in reply to the firm knock on his door.<p>

"Colonel Crawley, sir," a voice called.

Robert looked up and smiled.

"My dear boy," he said, rising from his chair and greeting Matthew with a firm handshake. "I heard you arrived this week."

"I'm sorry that I didn't seek you out before," Matthew said, taking the seat offered to him. "It seems I've been running and doing calisthenics since I got here."

"Well, we need our boys in top shape," Robert laughed. "How are you holding up?"

"Very well, actually," Matthew smiled. "It hasn't been as exhausting as I feared."

"Well, I suppose we should be thankful that you were so fastidious about exercise these past few years," Robert smiled, recalling Matthew being the only person to ever use the exercise room at Downton Abbey. "Have you been assigned to a unit as of yet?"

"I have," Matthew nodded.

"And how do your men look to you?" Robert asked.

"Well, the thing is, Robert, is that I'm not being deployed with the infantry," Matthew said.

"Oh?" Robert frowned. "What unit are you assigned to, then?"

"I'm actually being transferred to Naval Intelligence," Matthew smiled.

Robert blinked several times, absorbing this information.

"You're staying in London?" Robert asked, his stomach fluttering in shock and a small sense of hope.

"I am," Matthew nodded. "They think that I may have what it takes to be a code breaker apparently."

"Good God!" Robert smiled. "That's outstanding news, Matthew!"

"It is," Matthew nodded, unable to contain his glee. "I've been quite fortunate."

"To say it mildly," Robert laughed. "A child on the way, and now this. What does Mary say?"

"I haven't been able to tell her as of yet," Matthew shook his head. "They want me to get settled in London first once I'm done here."

"Of course," Robert nodded. "Well, you'll stay at Grantham House of course. It will be good to have the company, though I'm not there very much, truthfully."

"Thank you, Robert," Matthew nodded. "Though I wanted to tell you that I intend to send for Mary once I've started work in Whitehall. I won't be separated from her if I'm to stay in England."

Robert frowned briefly, then nodded. "Yes, I see how you would feel that way."

"I don't expect the two of you to get along," Matthew said. "And I know you are both capable of avoiding each other. But, Grantham House is smaller than Downton and I don't want any issues, particulary given Mary's pregnancy, and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in your own home either."

Robert raised his hand. "Send for her," he said firmly. "You should have your wife at your side. I expect she will insist on having the baby at Downton though."

"She most likely will, yes," Matthew laughed. "And that is how it should be."

Robert rose from his chair and shook Matthew's hand once more. "Well, good luck with the rest of your training, Matthew," Robert said.

Matthew saluted and left the office. Both the Earl of Grantham and his heir were in much better spirits than before.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary looked around the bedroom, mentally going over her checklist of items. Anna stood nearby, smiling to herself as her Mistress was deep in concetration.<p>

"And Bates arranged all of Mr. Crawley's clothes in the dressing room?" Mary asked, wandering over to her vanity and checking her bottles and creams.

"He did, Milady," Anna nodded. "We brought most of Mr. Crawley's wardrobe here."

"I expect he'll be wearing suits to work each day," Mary muttered. "That's what he wore to the office in Manchester and really he has an office job now in a fashion."

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded.

Mary stopped in front of the full length mirror and looked at her profile. Her stomach swelled slightly below her Summer dress. She turned her hips, reviewing the way she looked.

"I'm sure that Mr. Crawley will be pleased with how the baby is growing, Milady," Anna said.

"I hope so, Anna," Mary sighed. "There should be some benefit to all this weight I'm putting on, I should hope."

Anna smirked slightly. Even at four months pregnant, Lady Mary was far more svelte than most women.

They both turned their heads as they heard heavy footsteps from downstairs.

"That's Mr. Bates," Anna said.

"Come, Anna," Mary smiled as she moved towards the door. "It sound as though the Master of the House has arrived."

Mary walked briskly down the hall and reached the top of the stairs as Bates opened the door. She stopped and grinned as Matthew stepped into the foyer, removing his hat and nodding to Bates. A driver carried Matthew's bags in behind him and placed them on the floor. Matthew glanced around, then looked up at Mary descending the stairs. His smile mimicked hers.

"Mary," Matthew nodded as she approached him.

"Good day, Matthew," Mary smiled, nodding politely in return.

"I'll bring your bags downstairs and deal with the laundry, sir," Bates said, smirking at Anna as he carried Matthew's luggage past the smiling couple.

"If that will be all, Milady?" Anna asked.

"Yes, Anna. I'll ring for you later," Mary said, not turning around.

"Yes, Milady. Welcome home, sir," Anna curtsied.

"Anna," Matthew mumbled, his eyes still on his wife.

"You look gorgeous," he whispered, once they were left alone.

"Thank you," Mary blushed, looking down demurely.

Matthew reached into his pocket and took out her toy dog. Mary smiled as he handed it back to her.

"It worked," Matthew grinned. "Your lucky charm has saved me from going to the Front."

"Your skills saved you," Mary corrected him. "I'm just relieved that the Army recognized that your talents would be wasted over there."

"And you could see yourself content with your husband sitting behind a desk rather than gallantly fighting the Huns in battle?" Matthew teased. "I won't be much of War hero now, I'm afraid."

"You're more valuable to me here," Mary scoffed, stepping towards him. "And I am looking forward to sleeping with you each night, rather than having to rely upon your letters for comfort."

"Certainly," Matthew smiled, taking her in his arms and kissing her soundly. "I can live with that."

Matthew kissed her again, then drew back and placed his hand on her stomach. Mary smiled at him, covering his hand with her own before she kissed him once more.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, September 1916**_

* * *

><p>Robert stood rigidly in the doorway, scowling at the large grandfather clock in the foyer. Matthew and Mary were huddled together by the door, smiling and beaming at each other. Their goodbye had taken over five minutes already, and Robert was debating escaping back to the morning room to wait them out a while longer. Robert flexed his jaw as he sighed and averted his eyes at their displays of affection. Matthew held Mary's hand, except for when he touched her now slightly bulging stomach. Robert did not know when Mary had become so openly affectionate. She must have picked it up in Manchester, he thought. Among other things, he grumbled to himself.<p>

Finally tired of standing by, Robert stepped purposefully into the foyer, his footfalls loud across the marble floor.

"Good day, Robert," Matthew said politely, nodding to the Earl. "And goodbye, darling," he smiled, leaning over and kissing Mary firmly.

Mary nodded at her husband, a curious smile on her lips. Matthew was through the door in an instant as Bates helped Robert with his coat.

"Good day, Papa," Mary said graciously, the smug smile still adorning her face. "I'll see you tonight at dinner."

Robert looked down at his shoes as Bates buttoned up his coat.

"I'm staying at Sandhurst for the rest of the week," Robert said flatly. "We're increasing the training schedule to get the soldiers out faster."

"Ah," Mary nodded. "I shall see you in a week then."

Mary looked away and her smile turned into a grin. Robert rolled his eyes. It was strange how seeing Mary enjoying the life he imagined for her ages ago – married to the heir to the Earldom, living in London running her own household – now seemed to grate on him.

"Let Matthew know, please," Robert said curtly, taking his hat and turning for the door.

"I'll tell him when he calls this afternoon," Mary said lightly.

Robert frowned again. He turned slightly and looked at his eldest daughter.

"He phones in shortly after lunch each day to check on me," Mary shrugged, the smile never leaving her lips. "I've half a mind to tell him I've gone into early labour just to scare him a little bit."

Mary chuckled at her joke and patted her stomach.

"Do not joke about such things, Mary," Robert said dismissively. "And I hope you are keeping your conversations to a minimum. Matthew has very important work to attend to. You can always talk to him in the evenings."

"Don't be a spoilsport, Papa," Mary rolled her eyes. "I always tell him that I'm feeling fine and order him to go back to work."

"Good," Robert nodded. "You can call your Mama if you need any help, of course."

Mary nodded. "Don't worry, Papa. Your potential grandson and Matthew's heir is healthy and happy, as far as I know. I've felt much better since we moved to London."

"Very well," Robert said, turning back towards the door.

"And don't worry about whether it will be a boy or not. I expect that Matthew and I are going to have several more children," Mary said over her shoulder, smirking to herself as she went back upstairs.

Robert shook his head, muttering as he left Grantham House and disappeared into the back of the waiting motor.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty <strong>__**Building, **__**Whitehall, London, England, September 1916**_

* * *

><p>Matthew sat at his desk, scanning over the page in front of him with a pencil. The office was rather quiet today, which he preferred to the manic atmosphere that would sometimes greet a new intercepted transmission. It could be as rowdy as a weekend crowd at Old Trafford one day and as quiet as the library in his former law firm's office the next.<p>

Matthew did not know what to expect when he first arrived weeks ago. It was easy to understand who a soldier was and the skills one required to be a good one. Similarly, Matthew could easily picture who a typical Navy sailor was, or even a fighter pilot in the Royal Air Force. These members of the Navy – the cryptoanalysts, the codebreakers – were just regular looking people, and that was somewhat unnerving. He felt somewhat lost, having no idea what made any of these people particularly good at their task, or what made him a proper candidate to join their first few days were spent learning everyone's names, and countless hours sifting through the numerous codebooks that British Intelligence had captured from the Germans since the beginning of the War. It was so much gibberish to him at first, and he'd taken over a dozen tries to decipher his first test message, until Reverend Montgomery and his cohort, Nigel de Grey, amusedly reminded Matthew that the decoded message was in German and had to be translated to English.

It was Mary who had put him at ease during his first week. She had teased him that she would not dare coerce any of His Majesty's secrets from him, and had even made his pulse jump by seductively saying she found it quite glamorous that she was married to a spymaster. In a fit of his usual exasperation, Matthew had bemoaned that he had no idea what he was doing or why he had been chosen to join Room 40 in the first place. It was easier to measure his performance against normal and typical military characteristics – his ability to fire a rifle, or batten down a hatch or do whatever it was that pilots did to fly an aeroplane. What made a good codebreaker?

His pique had manifested itself in a huff after they had retired to bed. Mary took the book from his hands and placed it on the nightstand. She then had slinked her body over his, drawing his full attention as she ran her fingers through his hair and smirked at him.

"Darling," she drawled. "Are you saying that you aren't sure how to act in a room full of swots?"

Matthew swallowed. "They aren't all swots, at least, not entirely anyway, from what I can tell…"

"It seems to be that your colleagues are all talented at one particular thing – burying themselves in books. And I am supremely confident that when it comes to a race between bookworms, my husband can read with the best of them."

Matthew could only roll his eyes and laugh. He feigned annoyance that Mary dare lump him in with a group of swots, which had led to Mary feigning an apology and feigning innocence when she asked how she could possibly make up for her horrible insult. He had arrived at work the next day with a glazed expression on his face, the memory of Mary's penance still vivid in his mind.

She was right though. Codebreaking was simply the practice of examining an encoded message and looking for patterns and hints on how it was encrypted. While the stolen German codebooks were helpful, they were outdated and not entirely accurate. However, by studying them, Matthew easily picked up that the Germans were rather uncreative when it came to scrambling their messages. They used basic ciphers and kept the coded words in alphabetical order. Matthew quickly established his own logical process for applying different techniques to a message to unravel its code. It became a game to him, seeing how many steps it took for him to crack a message. Mary was not at all surprised as Matthew's mood improved by leaps and bounds as the days and weeks carried on. His enthusiasm for his job was adorable, even if the subject matter was entirely tedious.

"Dilly spent a week trying to break a German naval communication, and I managed it in a morning!" Matthew crowed one evening over dinner.

"Really, darling, it was boring enough to hear about your job before you began to succeed," Mary joked, patting his hand. Matthew could only smile back at her. She would never admit it, but his boring job had kept him in England and allowed them to live together in London by themselves, two realities they did not expect when the government had called him to service months ago.

It was to Reverend Montgomery's surprise that Matthew even refused to use the tabulating machine they had installed to help streamline the process of decoding messages. Matthew preferred his deliberate method, going step-by-step, grinding away at the problem until it was solved. The machine was cumbersome and difficult to use and understand, and Matthew did not completely understand it. Taking a transmission and using his brain to peel away the layers hiding the true message underneath – that he could do.

The only continuing disappointment was that for all of their skill in decoding German messages, there were very few 'Eureka!' moments for the denizens of Room 40. It was rare that they found out the dates or details of specific strategies, or anything that was Earth shattering in the least. Most of the coded messages were relaying information that was either outdated by the time they decoded it, or revelations that the Army was already aware of. This War was being fought face-to-face, across long trenches and between large forces killing each other over a few kilometres of land. Those on the front lines did not need codebreakers to tell them what they could see in front of them.

Still, Matthew carried on, enjoying having somewhere to go each day and challenges that, while perhaps not substantively valuable, still fired his mind. Moreover, he was greatly enjoying his new life with Mary. She ran the small staff at Grantham House with a practised hand, and had their social engagements planned weeks in advance. They had a version of the life he imagined for them in Manchester. He working at an office doing something stimulating; she in charge of their home, a child on the way. He found himself loving the routine of it all, the pleasant anticipation he felt when the car pulled into St. James Square and approached Grantham House, eager to greet his wife at the end of the day.

If only he could do something to help end the blasted War, he would have no complaints at all.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, October, 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Mary," Matthew said sweetly as he settled into bed next to his wife.<p>

"Yes?" she said innocently, her fingers absentmindedly playing with her braid.

"We have to talk about a name for the baby."

"No," Mary said insistently.

"You know that Papa did not want my son to be named Reginald."

"But I do," Mary said as she huffed and rolled her eyes. "Why do you of all people want to talk me out of this? My son will be named after your father. It's the least that we can do, Matthew. If you come to your senses and quit haranguing me about this topic, I may consider your name as the baby's middle name. But, you're pushing my patience."

Matthew sighed. He did not particularly care about this topic, truly, but when his mother had visited them for a weekend last month, she had discreetly told him to not allow Mary to use his father's name for the baby. Matthew always knew his Papa did not want to follow such antiquated traditions, and had even objected to Matthew having the middle name Reginald, but ultimately Matthew always though it was more said in self-deprecation and in jest.

"Your father held his independence above all else," Isobel said firmly. "He did not push for you to follow him into medicine, and he would not want his grandson saddled with either expectation or responsibility. It may be symbolic only, but your father believed that one's identity began with one's name. You must fight Mary on this and convince her that her well intentioned tribute is misguided."

In some ways, Matthew found it funny that he still was not particularly adept at convincing Mary of anything. They argued well enough, but he tended not to keep track of the score between them as it was decidedly unflattering to him.

"Well, all of this is moot if we have a baby girl," Matthew said diplomatically.

"It is," Mary said. "In that case, I would consider Regina Isobel."

Matthew rolled his eyes and pulled her close. He kissed her cheek softly, then moved to her neck.

"Do not even think that seduction will win this argument for you," Mary frowned, a smile coming to her as his lips danced across her skin. "I'm well aware of your games, Matthew."

"I propose a compromise," Matthew said sweetly. "If we have a boy we could use Papa's middle name."

Mary closed her eyes and concentrated, her husband's lips and hands distracting her from recalling such a simple detail. She finally remembered her father-in-law's full name inscribed in the skylight at Manchester City Hall.

_Dr. Reginald George Crawley_

Mary sighed contentedly as Matthew's attentions grew more insistent. She was loathe to capitulate to him, but she did rather like the sound of George Crawley.

"I will consider your argument," Mary smiled. As his hand swept across her belly, she moved her fingers down his front and grasped him between his legs.

"Allow me to make my first submission then," Matthew grinned, taking hold of her lips and massaging her thigh with clear intent.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, November 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Matthew, good work on yesterday's messages," Reverend Montgomery said gruffly, looking over the pages scattered across his desk. "We usually see a slow down over once we reach December. Even though there is no official ceasefire, the forces on both sides tend to slow down once Winter sets in and Christmas approaches."<p>

"I'm glad to hear some things are still considered sacred, sir," Matthew nodded.

"Yes, well in light of our slower traffic, I'm going to put you in charge of monitoring the American diplomatic cable," Reverend Montgomery said. "It's all clear traffic. The Americans only allow the Germans to use it for limited diplomatic purposes, to communicate with their Embassy mostly. It all seems ridiculous to me, but the Americans seem to think by cooperating with the Germans on this, it will encourage peace talks. A lot of good it's done so far…"

"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded.

"Anyway, I know it isn't particularly worthy of your talents, but I don't want you staying late here into December. Your place is back in Yorkshire with your wife. When is the baby due again?" Reverend Montgomery asked.

"Sometime in January, sir," Matthew answered. "My family is actually coming up for Winter Season so I'll be here through the beginning of December. We usually spend Christmas and New Year's at Downton, but I don't need to…"

"Matthew," Reverend Montgomery warned. "In these times, family is even more important. You can take on a bigger workload in January, but until your baby is born, I want you to ease up a little. You're already the fastest one of all of us. Nigel is beginning to get jealous of you, truth be told."

Matthew's eyes went wide. "Sir, I apologize! I…"

"He's not too upset about it, Matthew…not yet..." Reverend Montgomery smiled. "Now, let's say that the week before Christmas, you will go home where you belong and we shall see you back here in mid-January. If anything urgent comes up, we'll call you back of course."

"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"You're most welcome, Matthew. Now, get back to work. It isn't December yet," Reverend Montgomery smiled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>"What do you think?" Mary smiled, smoothing her dress over her stomach.<p>

"It's quite…blue," Matthew said, glancing around the newly refurbished nursery.

"We can always change it if necessary," Mary smiled, coming over and linking her arm in his. "But I expect the colour will suit."

"You aren't going to be upset if the baby turns out to be a girl, will you?" Matthew asked.

"Of course not," Mary scoffed. "Sybil, Edith and I saw the most darling little dresses when we were shopping in London last week. I believe I'm having a boy, but I won't be disappointed darling, not at all."

"Good," Matthew nodded. "I know that there are expectations upon you to produce an heir, but we there's no rush, Mary."

"I know," Mary agreed. "It's just that, well, I don't want Edith to beat me to it."

Matthew chuckled. "Has anything developed in that area?"

"Edith isn't talking about it, thank God," Mary rolled her eyes as they walked out into the upstairs hallway. "I refuse to even acknowledge that she and Sir Anthony share the same bed, let alone…anything else."

"You never know, darling," Matthew smirked. "There is something to be said for experience, after all."

"Matthew!" Mary hissed. "Don't be vulgar! And truthfully, it wouldn't take much at all for him to seem otherworldly compared to Edith's lack of experience. That is one thing he has in his favour. One chaste kiss would have her swooning."

"I thought that becoming a mother would make you kinder to others," Matthew laughed as they reached the stairway and went down to the Great Hall."

"I could have a dozen children and it wouldn't change how I feel about her," Mary said pointedly.

"Well then," Matthew grinned. "Are you saying you're up for a challenge?"

"Let's focus on having this one first," Mary smiled.

"All right," Matthew replied. "The day after she's born, we can start on the next one."

"He will need lots of care and attention," Mary said firmly. "And you will be far too tired between spending time with your son and codebreaking to even want to do anything else."

"You're mad," Matthew shook his head, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I want you right this instant, and you're nearly nine months pregnant."

Mary blushed fiercely. She glared at him as they came into the parlour to rejoin the family.

"So, how did you find the nursery?" Cora beamed at them.

"It's perfect, Cousin Cora, thank you," Matthew nodded.

"You'll meet Nanny next week," Cora nodded. "I was rather impressed with her. Weren't you, Mama?"

"She came highly recommended," Violet said drily. "And it was explained to her that she would be moving to London once the baby is fit to travel."

"I can't say I'm eager to go back," Robert shrugged.

"It's so very nice to have you home for the holidays," Cora smiled.

"Yes, Papa. And you'll get to see the baby," Sybil nodded.

"Well, let's get on with the Game," Matthew suggested. "Mary and I don't stay up as late as we used to, I'm afraid."

They all gathered around the fireplace and Cora ordered Sybil to go up first. Mary sat next to Matthew and linked her hand in his across her stomach. They began calling out answers to Sybil's antics as the fire warmed them and Christmas approached.

* * *

><p>"Does anyone have any resolutions for the New Year?" Sybil asked.<p>

Everyone paused from eating their dessert for a moment and thought briefly on the question. Mary and Matthew smiled at each other. Robert seemed particularly pensive.

"Mine are all entirely focused on my grandchild," Isobel nodded.

"Yes, we do have free reign to spoil him, don't we?" Cora agreed.

"Or her," Edith smiled.

"What about you, Sir Anthony?" Matthew asked, looking down the table.

"This past year has been so wonderful, I don't know if I could imagine a better one," Sir Anthony said, smiling at Edith. Edith blushed and looked down at her plate.

"Let's all hope for an end to the War and that that everyone comes home safely," Mary said.

"Well said," Matthew smiled, raising his glass.

"Shall we go through?" Cora suggested, rising from the table. Her daughters, Isobel and Violet followed suit.

Mary squeezed Matthew's hand and he helped her up from her chair. He went to release her hand and turn back to Robert and the others.

"Darling," Matthew smiled, squeezing her hand again. "I'll be through in a minute."

Mary didn't move.

"Mary?" Matthew frowned.

She turned and looked at him, a concerned frown across her face.

"Carson," Mary said shakily. The butler stepped forward, looking at Lady Mary with concern.

"Please have Branson bring the motor around at once, and have Anna fetch my valise from our bedroom," Mary said.

"Yes, my Lady," Carson nodded. "Right away."

He practically ran from the dining room.

Mary looked at Matthew and leaned on his arm.

"We need to go to the hospital. Now," she swallowed.

Matthew's mouth dropped open in shock.

"All right, let's go," Matthew recovered. He placed Mary arm' in his and put his other arm around her back, guiding her towards the door.

"Now?" Robert asked, rising from the table.

"Now, Papa!" Mary said through gritted teeth.

"God in heaven!" Robert exclaimed.

"I'll go get Edith and the others. I expect that Isobel will want to go with them," Sir Anthony said, moving towards the sitting room.

Robert glanced around the now empty room. He took a swig of his port and grimaced, then turned and made his way to the sitting room.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Village Hospital, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, December 1916<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew hated waiting. He hated waiting in line at the café. He hated waiting at work for the latest coded message to come across his desk. He hated waiting for the train to arrive. He knew such waiting was both inevitable and normal, but he grew rather impatient when he knew how things were supposed to play out and he had to wait for it all to happen.<p>

Sitting in the waiting room then, while Mary was being attended to by Dr. Clarkson and his mother qualified as torture.

"Do you have a preference?" Robert asked. "Between a boy or a girl?"

Matthew shook his head. "Just as long as the baby and Mary are both healthy."

Robert nodded, looking down at the floor.

"I was anxious when Mary was born as well," Robert said quietly. "My father did not come with me to the hospital. Cora was inside with Clarkson and the nurses and I was out here by myself. When we left Downton, the only thing my father said was that he hoped it was a boy. I was too frightened to care, really. When I finally held her in my arms, I was just…grateful. Grateful that I had this lovely child."

Matthew looked over at the Earl. Robert continued to look at the floor.

"Mary thinks that I wish she was a boy," Robert sighed. "She thinks that I pushed her and was strict with her and treated her as though she was my son, that I was never…kind…with her. She's right…in some ways. But I never wished that she was a boy. She won't believe me, and you probably don't either, but I never regretted that she was my first child. In many ways, she's more formidable than any man I know."

"I can't promise you that she'll ever forgive you, or that you'll ever have a relationship beyond being polite to each other," Matthew said. Robert finally looked up from the floor to stare at him as he spoke. "There may be too much history for both of you to overcome. I will say though, that the entire time that Mary was in Manchester, she didn't dwell upon what happened to her. She was angry, and felt wronged, and did not speak highly of you at all, but she doesn't waste her time with wondering what could have been. She just gets on with it, and I think that you should do that as well. You may not be able to fix what happened between you, but with time, and some effort, you may be able to start again."

"Mr. Crawley," a nurse called from the doorway.

Matthew and Robert both rose from their chairs.

"You can come in and see your son now, sir," the nurse smiled.

Matthew turned to Robert. The Earl nodded to his heir.

Matthew took off quickly.

* * *

><p>"Come and meet your son," Mary said softly, smiling up at Matthew as she cradled their baby in her arms.<p>

"You braided your hair," Matthew smiled, sitting down at her bedside. He took his son from her and held him close to his chest. The baby was swaddled in white linens that Cora had used for Mary when she was born. Matthew looked down at the boy's peaceful sleeping face and could not stop grinning widely.

"Anna did it," Mary smiled, looking over at the sight of Matthew holding their child. "I wanted to be presentable for the father of my child."

"You look beautiful, darling," Matthew beamed, leaning over and kissing her softly.

He rose and walked around the room, rocking the boy back and forth.

"George Matthew Crawley," Mary said, leaning back on the pillows.

Matthew turned to her and nodded.

"I'm keeping Reginald as an option for our next son," she said, arching her eyebrow.

"As you wish, my darling," Matthew smiled, looking back at George asleep in his arms.

"As you wish."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, January 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew sat at his desk, a German codebook spread out in front of him. He had been studying lightly, though he already knew most of what was written on the pages. There had not been much coming through lately for him to look at, and he was filling his time brushing up on his techniques and analyzing old messages. The sheer volume of coded communications that had been intercepted since the beginning of the War was impressive, but most of it was chatter and became obsolete in short order.<p>

He smiled as he looked at the photograph of Mary and George on his desk. They had the baptism before coming back to London and his dear chap was settling in nicely. The boy slept quite a bit, a trait that Isobel said he inherited from Matthew, and Mary was able to rest and recover rather comfortably since she'd been back.

Matthew usually spent an hour with George when he got home from work before the dinner gong sounded. After dinner, he and Mary would look in on the baby before they both went to sleep themselves. Even though George spent most of his time with Nanny, Matthew and Mary found themselves worn out by the time dinner was through.

One of the girls who dealt with deliveries came by Matthew's desk.

"The latest from Porthcurno, Mr. Crawley," she said, dropping a thick envelope on his desk.

"Thank you," Matthew nodded, opening the packet and taking out a stack of papers.

Matthew had to reconcile certain harsh truths about War as part of his occupation. Not only did the British intercept communications from the Germans and other enemies of His Majesty, but they also monitored the wireless communications of certain friendly nations as well, including the United States. As England controlled the telegraph station at Porthcurno, the westernmost station in Europe, most transatlantic communications had to pass through Britain. Though the British were not supposed to monitor or copy any messages sent through those channels, the reality was they had been monitoring American communications for years. Matthew was not entirely surprised when he was told by Reverend Montgomery about this practice. He expected that shadow games abounded in British Intelligence. Odds were the Americans were spying on the British as well in some fashion. It still did not entirely sit well with Matthew that he was literally eavesdropping on communications without any justification.

When he first started monitoring the American diplomatic cables, his conscience was assuaged in part. The messages, encrypted on a basic level by the Americans, were innocuous and irrelevant. The vast majority did not concern Britain or its interests, and could be disregarded. Even the German communications sent to their embassies in North America were unimportant. They weren't coded, for one, meaning nothing truly sensitive was ever transmitted, and second, there was nothing important about the War that needed to be communicated across the Atlantic. Matthew meticulously decoded all of the messages anyway, to keep his skills sharp, but more often than not, the message he found was instructions on what days of the year the American embassies would be closed or some random staffing arrangement that he had no interest in.

He idly thought of Mary as he sifted through the latest ream of paper. As the American messages had only one encryption, he could decode them easily, using the key he had memorized long ago. He almost saw it as a game – could he beat his personal record for going through a packet of communications? Everything he looked at would then be reviewed by Reverend Montgomery or Nigel, and he took a small amount of pride in shocking them at how quickly he could process the messages.

Perhaps he could convince Mary to have dinner out sometime this week, he thought. They had not gone out for a proper meal since coming back to London. Mary did not spend all of her waking moments with the boy, but Matthew suspected she was far more attached to him than she let on. Though George was not even three weeks old, Matthew felt the need to have a proper date with Mary, if only as a change of routine. He would have to be careful about how he broached the subject. If he tried to suggest they do something different, she would accuse him of being bored with their life at Grantham House. If he used George as an excuse, she would probably accuse him of being a bad father, or worse, that he was accusing her of being a cold mother who would leave her infant at home to go gallivant around London at night. Matthew smiled at the thought. Though he was hardly an expert on anticipating Mary's reactions and moods, he enjoyed the challenge of sparring with her. It made them both feel alive, this knowledge that they could duel this way.

Matthew turned back to the page in front of him. He went through the code key once again and lined up the decrypted words with the original message. He frowned as he read the finished result.

"Strange," he muttered.

"What's strange?" Nigel asked, coming over to his desk.

Nigel de Grey was a short, thin man who kept to himself and was shy and quiet. He spent most of his time talking with Reverend Montgomery, and tended to leave most of the supervision and direction of the group to him. He had enlisted in the Army shortly after the outbreak of War and served in Belgium before he was recruited to Room 40. Matthew liked him from the moment they were introduced. Nigel was a problem solver, someone who saw the coded messages as puzzles to be unravelled, and he was very good at what he did, being the preeminent codebreaker of the group.

"That's the latest American cables?" Nigel asked.

"Yes," Matthew frowned. "They're all more of the usual, except for this one."

"What's that about?" Nigel asked.

"I'm not sure. It's coded," Matthew said.

"Beyond the standard encryption?"

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "It isn't a clean message like the others."

"Why would the Americans encrypt a coded message on their diplomatic channel? You don't suppose they know we're intercepting them?"

"I can't see how they would," Matthew shook his head. "All the rest of the packet is clean. It's just this one that is coded beyond the standard encryption."

"What code did they use?" Nigel asked, looking down at the paper.

Matthew glanced at the page for several moments. There was something about the pattern of the words and characters that seemed familiar to him.

"It's not American," Matthew said finally. He looked up at Nigel.

"It's German."

"German?" Nigel frowned. "Why would the Americans be sending a coded German message overseas? That's not their arrangement."

"I don't know, but I recognize the code. It's one of the newer ones from the last code book we got from the Russians. The Americans don't use it as far as I'm aware," Matthew said.

"It's probably an oversight, but go ahead and decrypt it just the same," Nigel ordered. "I can't see how anything important would be sent through the Americans, but let's double check to be sure."

"It's going to take a while," Matthew said.

"Take it home, then," Nigel shrugged. "Just don't lose it."

"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded, rising from his desk and collecting his belongings.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, January 1917**_

* * *

><p>"Lady Cunard asked whether we would be available for dinner in a fortnight," Mary said, rubbing cream into her hands. She glanced over at Matthew sitting in bed from her perch at her vanity. "I told her it would depend on your work commitments, but I am inclined to accept her invitation."<p>

"Mmm, yes, dear," Matthew mumbled, staring intently at the papers spread out before him.

Mary rolled her eyes and rose from her chair.

"She is rather interested in what you do at the office exactly, but I lied and told her that I didn't know. She'll continue to pry, of course, but even she must understand that we can't discuss sensitive matters," Mary said, coming to bed.

"Yes, darling," Matthew said, picking up a page and frowning at it, then looking over at a booklet in his other hand.

Mary shook her head and slipped under the blankets. She turned on to her side to face him, propping her head up against the pillows.

"I suspect that is partly what her invitation is about. She thinks she can ply us with wine and fine food and we'll happily regale her with some thrilling gossip about spies and espionage. If only she knew that your job is hardly cloak and dagger," Mary smirked.

"Mmm, yes," Matthew replied, taking a pencil and scribbling several notes on a page.

Mary rolled her eyes again.

"I expect that after dinner, we'll retire to her sitting room for some adult parlour games. Lady Cunard says she knows two rather burly men who think they can handle me at the same time and she's invited a heavier set woman for you," Mary frowned.

"We'll need to pick up some armour from the pharmacy beforehand then," Matthew said, still not looking at her. "We wouldn't want any consequences from what ought to be a pleasant orgy."

"Matthew!" Mary snarled, slapping his arm.

Matthew laughed and turned to her, pulling her to him and kissing her firmly.

"I'm sorry, darling. Are you feeling neglected?" he smiled.

"Hardly," Mary huffed, snuggling closer to him. "But if you insist on bringing your work home, then you should go to the study and take your papers with you."

"It is rather rude of me, isn't it? You deserve my undivided attention," Matthew teased, kissing her again.

"I have not had your attention all evening," Mary grumbled. "First you played with George until the gong, then you brought those infernal papers to the dinner table, and kept staring at them when we went through. I'm fortunate that Papa is away this week, otherwise I may have been forced to engage him in conversation."

"Perish the thought," Matthew laughed. He turned back and gathered up his papers, stacked them together neatly and placed them into a folder. He deposited the folder on the nightstand, then turned back to his frowning wife.

"There," he declared. "No more codebreaking for tonight."

"Now you've made me feel as though I'm betraying King and Country," Mary huffed as he embraced her once more. "If it's important, then carry on, darling."

"I've made some decent progress with it, but I can leave it for now. It may make more sense to me with a clear head in the morning," Matthew said, kissing her neck.

"What is so challenging about this one?" Mary asked. "I don't mean to be nosey, but…"

"It's fine," Matthew smiled, kissing her shoulder. "This particular message uses a cipher that we're not completely familiar with. Some of it makes sense, but not entirely. I have a basic road map of where I want to go, but the directions aren't entirely clear."

"I see," Mary sighed, closing her eyes as his hands travelled down to her hips, then moved across her silk covered bottom. "Are you feeling frustrated, then?"

"Not at all," Matthew whispered, kissing her again as he squeezed her buttocks firmly. Their lips moved in concert, coming together, then separating as he spoke, their tongues sliding over each other between words.

"A coded message…is a challenge…that invigorates me…" he breathed into her mouth. "The text is…just a series of layers…that beg to be peeled away…to reveal the treasure beneath."

Mary gasped and held him tight as he lifted her nightgown up past her hips. His fingers slid below her knickers, moving over her bottom then around across her thigh.

"Matthew," she hissed, her head falling forward on to his shoulder as his fingers brushed against her centre.

"It's just a matter of patiently applying more and more effort until eventually the defences give way," Matthew smiled, inhaling deeply as he found his target. "The moment that I master it is quite intensely…satisfying."

"Yes," Mary cried. She reached down between them and grabbed his wrist, moving his hand with hers. She cried out again as he curled his fingers inside of her.

"God, Mary," he grunted, leaning over her as she moved to her back.

He slowed his hand as she released, kissing her neck softly as she took deep breaths to calm herself. She finally opened her eyes and smirked at him lazily.

"Feeling rather smug, aren't you?" she arched her eyebrow at him as she ran her hand through her loose hair.

"Merely trying to make amends for ignoring you earlier tonight, my darling," Matthew smiled, kissing her cheek.

"Well, spymaster, I'm feeling rather invigorated myself," Mary purred, pushing him on to his back. Her fingers quickly undid his shirt as she moved over him. "And you have far too many layers of your own at the moment."

"I agree," Matthew smiled, pulling her nightgown further up her body as she kissed his bare chest and slid her hands into his pyjamas.

* * *

><p>"Lady Cunard did in fact invite us over, Matthew," Mary said, stretching herself across his chest and side.<p>

"Give her our regrets," Matthew smiled, his eyes closed as she ran his hand up and down her bare back. "We're busy in a fortnight."

"With what? I've not planned anything for that weekend," Mary asked, resting against him.

"I'm taking you out," Matthew smiled. "Nanny can take care of George. I want to have a proper evening out with my wife."

"A proper evening out would include dinner and dancing," Mary smiled, her eyes closed.

"At a minimum," Matthew said.

"Then I shall need a new frock for such an occasion," Mary teased.

"Most definitely," Matthew replied.

"Goodness, what other indulgences could I possibly coerce you into allowing when you are in such an agreeable state?" Mary asked lightly.

"I shall leave it up to your imagination, my darling," Matthew smiled, kissing the top of her head as they fell asleep.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, January 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"What do you think?" Nigel asked Reverend Montgomery.<p>

"This first line doesn't seem right…" Reverend Montgomery remarked. "We intend to begin on the first of February unrestricted warfare…how is that any different from what they've done before? They've hardly been restrained."

"There's a word missing," Matthew frowned, looking at the codebook again, then back at the partially decrypted message. "It's here. The Magdeburg cipher has a different interpretation for this sequence."

"So warfare isn't unrestricted then?" Nigel asked.

Matthew exhaled loudly, then turned to his superiors. "It isn't 'unrestricted warfare'. It's 'unrestricted submarine warfare'," Matthew said.

"But then this next phrase – 'We shall endeavour in spite of this to keep the United States of America neutral.' The Americans shouldn't be concerned with such tactics. U-boats have been giving us fits since 1914," Reverend Montgomery frowned.

"Unless by unrestricted, the Germans mean they will no longer only focus on us," Nigel said.

"My God," Matthew blinked. "They're going after the American supply ships."

"If it's truly unrestricted, then every vessel with an American flag will be targeted – passenger liners, merchant ships, the whole lot," Nigel nodded.

"Call Blinker, now," Reverend Montgomery ordered. "Matthew, keep at it. I want to show him whatever we've got within the hour."

"Yes, sir," Matthew said quickly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, January 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>Robert held a teddy bear in his arms; the Nanny had just left the nursery with a sour expression on her face. It almost made him smile. Even though his grandson was only a few weeks old, it would appear he was already enforcing his will on others. This morning, Robert had a slight break from his duties, and he wanted to return home and place the newly purchased gift in the little chap's crib undetected. All of the toys that his grandson had seemed to come from a combination of old mementos of Matthew's or items that Mary had purchased in London. Robert felt as though the Manchester side of the family were having an undue influence on the future Earl of Grantham and he needed to even the score.<p>

Robert opened the door to the nursery and quietly walked inside. He stopped suddenly when he saw Mary sitting facing away from him in the rocking chair, the baby obviously bundled in her arms as she rocked back and forth.

"There, there, George," she chuckled. "Easy, now."

Robert smiled. George Crawley. The name of the patron Saint of England. The name of the King. A rather fitting choice, he had to admit. He was afraid that Mary would name the boy after Matthew's late father, thereby creating a constant reminder of who had taken her in when Robert had banished her. He was grateful that Matthew was far more reasonable.

Robert frowned when he heard a distinct sound, as though the baby was smacking his lips.

Mary laughed and cooed to her son some more.

Robert's mouth fell open in disbelief as he deciphered the scene before him. Though his daughter is turned away from him and he cannot see his grandson, the scene is unmistakeable. Even Cora with her American sense of values did not dare nurse her own children. How could Mary even think to do so?

He cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence, and Mary looked across the room with surprise. She quickly readjusted her blouse as she continued to rock George.

"Papa," she said cordially, if not warmly. "We weren't expecting you until next week."

"I had a free morning," Robert muttered, the stuffed bear hanging in his hand.

"Ah, well you can put that in his crib. Nanny will show it to him later," Mary said, turning back to her son. It does not go unnoticed by the Earl that she has implied by her choice of words that _she_ will not be handling his gift for George. To the untrained ear, her comment would seem innocent, but Mary always chooses her words carefully and precisely, and Robert has long learned that, in his case, her intention is to cut deep.

Robert set the toy on a nearby table and stood back, not too close to see exactly what was happening.

"How is the little chap?" He finally asked.

"He is rather fussy actually," Mary said gently. "Isobel is coming up to see him tomorrow. She is worried about a possible ear infection. She said that Matthew had a lot of them as an infant."

The Nanny returned, and Robert said his polite goodbyes, relieved at the timing. With Isobel arriving shortly, the Manchester faction would have the run of the place through the weekend. He shook his head as he went downstairs and through to the library. Earlier, he expected he would have tea before going back to Sandhurst, but now he is tempted to try something stronger.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, January 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Do you think it's anything to be concerned about?" Cora asked.<p>

"Certainly not," Isobel shook her head. "To be honest, I'm using it as an excuse to go up and see them. Why don't the two of you come along?"

"I'm afraid that I can't," Cora shook her head, taking a sip of her tea. "Although it does feel as though Mary has been gone for far longer than a week or so."

"I was thinking that George could call me Grandmamma, which would then leave Granny for you," Isobel smiled.

"I like that," Cora nodded. "Though I hope I have some time left to get used to it."

"One always thinks there is plenty of time before they utter their first words," Violet nodded knowingly. "Then you look up and they're reciting Shakespeare and you forget your own name for how often you are called 'Granny'."

"But you enjoy it," Cora teased.

"It does have a ring to it," Violet muttered.

Isobel smiled as she sipped her tea. She glanced about the room for a moment, finding her husband's photograph on the mantle. What he must think of her now…taking tea with the Countess of Grantham and the Dowager Countess, about to head off to London to see the two heirs presumptive to the Earl of Grantham. Their life in Manchester was not nearly as aristocratic or lavish as her husband's income could have allowed, and yet here she was. Even still, Isobel had to admit that beneath the titles, her Yorkshire family were far more than paying calls and organizing parties. If she herself hated to be judged by her background, then was it not wrong for her to assume there was no substance to her rich and powerful relations?

"I've been meaning to ask you, Cousin Isobel," Cora said carefully, putting her teacup down. "I know that Mary worked under your supervision in Manchester, and we obviously know that you were far more familiar with her than you let on when you first arrived."

"Yes?" Isobel nodded.

"How was she? As a nurse, I mean. I have such a difficult time picturing it, and yet to hear her speak of her time there, it's as though she found her calling somehow," Cora said.

Isobel smiled at both women, then put her own teacup down.

"You have every reason to be proud, cousin," Isobel said happily. "When I first met Mary, she was a bit of a mess. She wore a rather lovely gown that had no business in a hospital ward, and she was entirely stunned at her predicament. But, when she puts her mind to something, there is no stopping her. She has a way with people, which is how I know she will be a wonderful mother."

Cora looked at Violet and smiled.

"Would you like to hear more?" Isobel said.

"Yes, thank you," Cora grinned.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, January 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"What we know thus far is it's a coded communication meant for Heinrich von Eckhardt, the German ambassador to Mexico," Matthew explained. "We have about 70% of it decrypted so far. It speaks of submarine warfare against the Americans, and should that incite them to enter the War, the Germans propose an alliance whereby they will support Mexico retaking their lost territories."<p>

"Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona," Nigel said. "The rest of the message is likely instructions and details, though we can't be sure until we finish with it."

"How long until you have it?" Admiral Sir William Reginald Hall asked, looking to each man.

"At least a week," Reverend Montgomery said. "The first part was based on an older diplomatic cipher, but Matthew thinks the last bit is new. We've tried to use a cipher given to us by the Russians to decrypt it, but it's slow going."

"But you are confident of what you have so far?" Admiral Hall asked.

Reverend Montgomery looked at Nigel, then looked back at the Admiral.

"Yes, sir," he nodded.

"Proceed," Admiral Hall ordered. "Keep me updated on your progress. I don't want to involve the War Office until we are certain of the entire message."

"Sir, February 1 is less than two weeks away," Matthew said. "That part of the message is clear. Should we not send word to the Americans through the appropriate channels?"

Admiral Hall turned to Matthew and looked at him inquisitively.

"What Matthew means, sir," Reverend Montgomery interjected. "Is that we may have enough already to warn them."

"At the risk of revealing that we both have the capacity to intercept and decode both German and American messages? I think not," Admiral Hall shook his head. "The information, if true, certainly needs to be sent to the Americans. However, we cannot afford to lose our advantage. It would be a political embarrassment were we to disclose that we have been spying on their messages for some time now."

"Sir, with all due respect, if we hold back, then the Germans will attack American ships on February 1. They'll be unprepared and unarmed, sir," Matthew continued.

"Mr. Crawley," Admiral Hall said patiently. "The Germans will proceed on February 1. Nothing will stop that. Such action may be interpreted by the Americans as a clear sign of War, which may finally force them to move off their arses and enter the fray. This message, and the existence of it, shall not change either of those outcomes – the German escalation of submarine warfare, or whatever response the Americans elect to take."

Matthew opened his mouth to speak and the Admiral raised his hand to stop him.

"If we decide to reveal this message, the Americans will ask how we came across it. They will want to know how we were able to decrypt it, and more importantly, how we were able to intercept it from their diplomatic channel. How can we show them the message is not a forgery without revealing that we both know their encryption as well as the German ciphers? If the Germans discover we are able to break their codes, they will change them, putting us at a disadvantage for further messages that may be far more important than this one. Do you understand the gravity of this situation now, young man?" Admiral Hall asked.

"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded. "You need a cover story to sell to the Americans."

Admiral Hall's eyes narrowed as he looked at Matthew. His lips then twitched in a smirk. He looked at Reverend Montgomery and Nigel knowingly, then turned back to Matthew.

"Get me the complete message, Mr. Crawley," Admiral Hall said crisply. "Once all three of you can confirm to me what it says, I'll hear your proposals on a cover story that suits our purposes."

"Yes, sir," Matthew saluted.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, January 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>When Matthew returned from work, he typically went straight to the nursery, and tonight was no different. His feet climbed the stairs with impatience.<p>

As Matthew approached the nursery, he could hear Mary laughing. It was the kind of sound he could imagine from the life he had thought they would have someday in Manchester. The soft banter of voices continued as he heard his mother speak though he couldn't make out her exact words. He knocked lightly on the door, then came into the room.

"Ah, you're home," Mary smiled at her husband. George gurgled as he swayed in her arms.

"Hello, darling," Matthew smiled, coming over and sitting down next to her. He kissed her cheek, then smiled at George.

"How was the train, Mother?" he asked, still looking at his son.

"Wonderfully uneventful," Isobel smiled. "And I'm pleased to report that George is perfectly healthy."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded, looking up at his mother. "I suppose the next thing you'll say is that he gets his fussiness and urge to squirm about from me."

Mary laughed.

"Not knowing anything about how Mary was as a baby, I will have to say yes," Isobel smiled.

"Careful, Matthew," Mary looked at him pointedly.

"I would not dare cast aspersions about how you behaved as an infant, darling," Matthew said, reaching over and lifting George into his arms. He rose from the chair and carried him towards the door.

"But if your behaviour as a young lady is any indication…" he threw over his shoulder before carrying his son out of the room.

Mary huffed and rolled her eyes. Isobel laughed.

"How are you finding London?" Isobel asked.

"Remarkably I am enjoying myself quite a bit," Mary nodded, rising from her chair. "We've been home mostly since we came back, but when we do go out, even if it's just for a walk, I'm not as anxious as I was before. Back in December even, we would still get the odd stare or strange glance from time to time, but I've learned to ignore it. It's not that I'm pleased that marrying Matthew has suddenly given me legitimacy in some people's eyes, but it is nice not to be a complete pariah."

"Let others think what they want," Isobel agreed as they went out into the hall. "And how are things with Lord Grantham?"

"He's not around much, actually," Mary said as they moved towards the stairs. "He spends most evenings at Sandhurst. He did receive quite a shock the other day when he stumbled upon me nursing George however."

Mary smiled at the memory.

"Good heavens!" Isobel exclaimed. "It must have been quite the sight."

"Thankfully, we were facing away from him," Mary said. "But I suspect he was on the phone to Mama sputtering and condemning how Manchester has affected me. Mama called me soon afterward. She had enough tact not to be too overbearing."

"Well it was never my intention to drive a further wedge between you and Robert," Isobel shook her head. "You knew our position on this. Reginald and I were both strong proponents of breastfeeding. But, I can see why it would be considered unheard of in this world."

"I was terrified of it at first," Mary nodded as they reached the parlour and saw Matthew walking around singing quietly to George. "But I find I look forward to it. You must be disappointed that he still needs a wet nurse at night though."

"Not at all, Mary, dear," Isobel said, patting her arm. "You do what works for you and for your son. As I taught you, there is no perfect method for any of this. Whatever feels natural and proper to you, I find maternal instinct is far more reliable than medical textbooks."

They sat down and smiled as they watched Matthew cradle his son.

"Here we are, aren't we?" Isobel beamed. "At the risk of seeming sentimental, everything seems rather golden at the moment."

"Yes," Mary nodded, grinning widely as she played with her rings. "Yes, it does."

* * *

><p>Anna opened the bedroom door and brought the tray into the darkened room. She walked easily through the shadows and placed the tray on the nightstand. She turned and began opening the curtains just enough to let light in. Lady Mary hated to take on the full brunt of the morning all at once.<p>

"Good morning, Milady," Anna said as she went to each of the windows.

"Mmm…Anna," Mary mumbled, blinking several times. She stretched her arm out and frowned as she realized Matthew's side of the bed was empty.

"Mr. Crawley had an early breakfast with Mrs. Crawley before he left for work," Anna explained.

"Yes, I do remember him leaving at an ungodly hour," Mary said, sitting up. "Is Isobel still downstairs?"

"She went out for a walk, and I think she is meeting friends later," Anna said, moving over and arranging Mary's pillows behind her before taking the tray to place across Mary's lap.

"I mentioned to Mrs. Crawley that you would be out shopping for most of the day and would return in time for dinner," Anna added.

"Ah, yes," Mary smiled nodding at the idea. "Today I get to shop for my new dress."

"Is it for a special occasion, Milady?" Anna asked, going into the dressing room to fetch her Mistress' clothes for the day.

"Mr. Crawley is taking me out this weekend," Mary smiled, biting into her toast.

"That is as good a reason as any," Anna smiled.

"It is, Anna," Mary nodded as her maid poured her tea. "I need a frock befitting our first proper night out together since George was born."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Madame Kate Reily's, of Dover Street, London, England, January 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"What do you think, Lady Mary?" Madame Kate asked, stepping back from the raised platform that Mary was standing upon.<p>

Since she was buying out of season, Mary had the illustrious dressmaker all to herself, and she was enjoying this fitting more than usual. Madame Kate personally supervised every detail while her many assistants floated about the room. With all of her family having returned to Yorkshire, Mary had no Mama to critique her selections, no Edith to snicker or be jealous and no Sybil to fawn over all of the selections. She also did not need to explain herself to anyone. She could take her time and find the perfect dress for her evening with Matthew.

"The colour is good," Mary nodded. "As for the rest of it," she hesitated, turning this way and that and looking at her profile in the mirror.

"We still haven't found it have we?" Madame Kate asked. The dressmaker had outfitted Mary during her Season and had only recently been dressing her again. Of course, Madame Kate had heard all of the rumours about Mary, including directly from some of her other customers. She didn't pay any attention to it. Mary had a keen eye for fashion, which Madame Kate appreciated, and if the dressmaker had learned one thing in her career, it was the more people spoke ill about someone, the more formidable the person must be. Nothing signalled a forerunner in the fashion world like jealousy.

"No," Mary said frankly.

"I have another gown I could show you in this same colour, if you don't mind something modern? Before I show it to you, I must warn you not to expect another gown," Madame Kate said seriously.

Mary was intrigued and nodded her approval.

Madame Kate clapped her hands and the assistant closest to the bureau stepped forward and cautiously removed several pieces of clothing.

"I present the shirt-waist and accompanying skirt, direct from Paris. The dark burgundy and velvet will accentuate your complexion and figure."

Mary was stunned by the glamorous design, but it was certainly not what she was searching for in an evening gown to wear for Matthew. After all, it was simply a blouse matched with a skirt.

"No," she said, even as she stared at the clothing. "It's too simple for the ocassion."

Madame Kate smiled as though she alone knew a secret.

"The future always appears simple at first," she said casually, "And this modern design is the future. After all, it looks like a gown doesn't it? The stitching is seamless and the two pieces of clothing act as though they are one. They are separate and yet together. It is perfect to impress your husband. And, might I add, it will make you the talk of the town."

Madame Kate instructed her assistant to move towards Mary and further inspect the clothing.

"I'm hardly eager to be the talk of the town," Mary frowned. She had to admit that the fabric did feel quite supple and luxurious. She knew Matthew would love it. The scooped neckline and flared waist accented her figure perfectly. Mary could see that without even trying it on.

"If I may suggest, Lady Mary," Madame Kate said quietly. "Perhaps it is time that you take charge of what others say about you, rather than allow others to dictate the message?"

Mary raised her eyebrow and looked over the dress once again.

"Can you remove the sleeves and shorten the hem?" Mary asked, a slight smirk coming to her lips.

"For you, anything, Lady Mary," Madame Kate smiled, clapping her hands once again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, February 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I still am against releasing it," Admiral Hall said, shaking his head. "The Germans have returned to patrolling the Atlantic to stop American supplies from reaching us. The Yanks will have to respond. Everything is in motion without having to make use of this and compromise our abilities," he said, waving the decrypted telegram around.<p>

"Sir, there is far more to the message than the resumption of submarine warfare," Matthew said. "We've confirmed that the Germans have actively thrown their support behind Mexico as an inducement to draw the Americans into a War over the former territories. Beyond trying to stop the United States from entering the War, it also suggests that Mexico try and bring Japan to the side of the enemy. This is no longer about warning the Americans. This message contains a legitimate threat to the British Empire."

Admiral Hall looked at Reverend Montgomery and sighed. "He's the lawyer that you found?"

"Tested better than anyone else we've seen, sir," Reverend Montgomery nodded with a slight smirk.

"Matthew, the Mexicans won't engage the Americans. Even with the Germans backing them, they don't have the military power or the resources to take back those territories and hold them," Admiral Hall said.

"Sir, that's all the more reason to disclose this telegram to the United States," Matthew replied. "The threat itself is insignificant, but the political weight that this message would carry may be enough to bring them in."

"So you're a believer that with the Americans, we would turn the tide, then?" Admiral Hall asked.

"I'm a believer in any measure that will end this War and spare my son from being touched by it," Matthew nodded.

Admiral Hall exhaled and looked over the message again. He read each line, painstakingly decrypted by Matthew, Nigel and Reverend Montgomery over the past three weeks.

"Monday," Admiral Hall finally declared. "I'll bring it to the Foreign Office on Monday. But without a strategy on how we are to cover for the manner in which we obtained it, I believe it still does more harm than good."

"We can say we intercepted it through other channels," Nigel suggested.

"How?" Admiral Hall asked. "The Americans know that the cable goes through us. We control it. How else would we come about it?"

"From the Mexicans," Matthew said slowly, his eyes widening in realization.

"Come again?" Admiral Hall asked.

"The telegram has to reach von Eckardt in Mexico," Matthew said, looking from one man to another. "Our cable only goes to Washington. The Germans still need to send it on once it arrives."

"Which means they need to send it by telegraph to their embassy in Mexico," Nigel nodded.

"If we get the coded message on the Mexican side, we can show it to the Americans and tell them that we intercepted it there, not here," Matthew said, his voice rising.

"There would be no dedicated diplomatic channel from the Germans to the Mexicans, so they'll need to use commercial telegraph," Reverend Montgomery added.

"At best they could encrypt it, but they would use a cipher that we already have, and there's no risk in telling the Americans that we have that cipher," Matthew said.

"At worst, the Germans would know one of their codes was compromised, but not the full extent of our capabilities," Admiral Hall said.

"By showing the Americans the message captured in Mexico, together with the proper cipher will prove that the message is authentic, and that will convince them we aren't making this up," Matthew said firmly.

"Well, we need to track down a source at the commercial telegraph office in Mexico then," Admiral Hall said. "Good work all of you. I still have my doubts, but I am slowly being convinced."

"Admiral, sir," one of the office girls called as she approached. "A message for you, sir."

Admiral Hall nodded and took the paper. He scanned it, then passed it to Reverend Montgomery.

"The Americans have just declared they are breaking off all relations with Germany in light of the submarine attacks of this week," Admiral Hall said. "It appears as though the time to strike is approaching. Good day, gentlemen."

Matthew saluted as the Admiral turned and left the office with the decoded message.

"Every once in a while, we do something exciting around here, don't we, Matthew?" Nigel joked.

"We're British Intelligence, Nigel," Matthew smirked. "I should hope we're good for something."

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Savoy Hotel, Westminster, London, England, February 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You seem rather pleased with yourself," Mary smiled as they danced. "You've been smiling all evening."<p>

"Why shouldn't I be?" Matthew teased, raising his eyebrow at her. "I'm dancing with a beautiful woman in a gorgeous red dress. I'm the envy of every man here."

Mary blushed slightly as she looked over his shoulder. She did notice numerous glances thrown their way throughout dinner and now into the dancing as well. At first she thought it was merely the usual interest of hosts and busboys attending to them, but she did see the odd wandering eye of some of the other men in the room, as well as a few caustic looks from the women.

"Perhaps they merely envy you for taking a turn with the infamous Lady Mary Crawley?" Mary whispered to him, shivering as his hand slid along her back. The thin material of her new frock seemed to transmit the warmth of his touch across her skin. "They know exactly what's in store for you. I'm known for serving myself up on a platter to any man, you know."

"The only thing you are known for tonight is wearing a stunning gown that shall have the fashion pages agog by Monday," Matthew said confidently. "As well as marrying far below your station, both in terms of looks and class."

"Don't you dare talk about my husband like that," Mary said mockingly. "I'll have you know that it was he who took pity on me, in fact, and I won't stand for a single false word to be uttered against his character."

"Well I'm afraid that you will have to take pity on me if we are to make it through the rest of this evening, darling," Matthew said against her ear. "The way you look tonight, I am having serious thoughts of renting a suite for the night and spiriting you upstairs this very moment."

"That offer sounds very enticing," Mary said sultrily. "But we both know that you enjoy looking in on George before we retire, even so late in the evening, so there shall be no overnight stays for you, Mr. Crawley."

"Very well," Matthew nodded, spinning them about the dance floor as they waltzed.

"You're still avoiding my question," Mary smirked. "Why are you so enthusiastic this evening? Did something go well at work? When you said that you had to go in on a Saturday, I was afraid you were going to call off our evening out."

"The German Army itself could not stop me from taking you out tonight, my darling," Matthew smiled, kissing her cheek quickly. "But you are right. We had a bit of a breakthrough today and I am hopeful that it will lead to some very good news in the coming days."

"Mmm, well, congratulations are in order then," Mary smiled as the dance came to an end. She nodded to him slightly as she stepped back. "This calls for champagne."

"Are you trying to ply me with alcohol, Lady Mary?" Matthew looked at her piercingly as he escorted her back to their table.

"Not at all, darling," she smiled at him as he held out her chair for her to sit down. "I want you in full command of all of your faculties when we get home," she said playfully, watching him swallow as he sat down across from her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Is he asleep?" Mary asked as Matthew came into the bedroom.<p>

"Yes," Matthew laughed. "He has a particular way of breaking out of his swaddling blanket during the night. He always ends up throwing his one arm above his head for some reason."

"Well, I never did that," Mary said pointedly.

"And you recall how you slept as an infant, do you?" Matthew laughed, sitting down on the end of the bed.

"I was the most well behaved child, Matthew," Mary glared at him. "It was only once I got to Manchester that I was corrupted."

Matthew laughed, leaning back on his arms as he watched her prepare for bed. He had removed his jacket and vest when he came home, and was now dressed only in his shirt, which was open at the collar, and his pants.

Mary rose from her vanity and walked over to him. She stepped between his legs and leaned over him, kissing him firmly. His hands reached up to hold her hips through her thin nightgown. She smiled against his lips and firmly removed his hands.

"No touching, Matthew," she said thickly. "Not yet."

"Mmm, Mary," he sighed against her mouth.

"Did you like my dress tonight?" she asked lightly, kissing his cheek, then his neck, her hands going to his shoulders and she stood over him.

"Very much," Matthew nodded, his eyelids fluttering closed. "Madame Kate outdid herself."

"Thank you for buying it for me," Mary smiled, her fingers moving down and unbuttoning his shirt. She pulled it from his trousers and pushed it open, baring his chest and torso to her hands.

"Of course, darling," Matthew whispered, his head falling back as she kissed his collarbone. "I wanted tonight to be special for you."

"It has been, indeed," she smiled. She deftly placed her legs on either side of his thighs and sat in his lap. Matthew's eyes shot open. He groaned as she felt her body settle over him.

"Did you enjoy seeing those men stare at us tonight?" she asked, kissing him once more. "Did you enjoy seeing their envious glances? Knowing how jealous they were that you would be taking me home tonight?"

"I…I didn't notice," Matthew rasped, swallowing as she nibbled on his ear lobe and licked his cheek.

"So you don't enjoy showing me off, Matthew?" Mary smiled. "You aren't proud of being the one man to claim me?"

"I…I don't think of you like that, Mary," Matthew exhaled. His hips began moving against her, the thin fabric of her nightgown doing nothing to stop the feel of her breasts rubbing against his bare skin. "You aren't a doll for me to parade around."

"You're such a gentleman, darling," Mary chuckled, reaching down and slowly undoing his belt. "But you still have your pride, don't you? Aren't you the least bit smug that you're the only man who has ever had me?"

Matthew groaned loudly at her words. She undid his belt and reached into his pants. He groaned louder.

"You're my only lover, Matthew," Mary drawled, smiling at his obvious reaction. "You're the only man to ever teach me to do the things that you have."

"God, Mary!" Matthew growled, moving against her hand. "Please."

"I'm yours, darling," Mary said, kissing him, her hand moving faster. "Open your eyes, Matthew."

Matthew opened his eyes and stared entranced at her swollen lips, her dark gaze and her flushed skin.

"Take me," she snarled.

Matthew circled her waist with one arm and held her back with the other. He flipped them over on to the bed quickly, smiling lustfully as he heard Mary moan from her back hitting the bed. They threw off their remaining clothes frantically before he flung the blanket over them and his lips came crashing against hers. She moaned into his mouth as he lifted her leg, spreading her open for him. Her hands moved down his back and grasped his buttocks just as he thrust forward. She responded to him instantly, bucking against him as he moved faster. They both knew they would not last long, the tension caused by her words and their teasing from earlier threatening to snap at any moment.

Matthew captured her mouth once more, their tongues jabbing at each other as their hips moved back and forth in concert. He reached back and took hold of her arm, pulling it off of him and sliding his hand along her soft skin until their fingers linked together. He pushed her hand up above her head, holding it there as they both moved faster, their cries muffled by their joined lips.

He felt her tighten around him and she moaned into his mouth as she melted, her thighs squeezing his hips as he pushed forward. He was with her shortly afterward, their fingers locking together tightly as he released.

The lights of London stretched off into the dark evening sky outside as Mary and Matthew took a brief rest.


	33. Chapter 33

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 1917**_

* * *

><p>Mary gulped in air, taking deep breaths, her chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply. She placed her hand on her damp forehead, smoothing back some loose strands of her hair that had fallen forward. Wearing her hair down was a rare pleasure, something she did often in Manchester when Lady Philomena wouldn't spare her lady's maid to help Mary prepare for bed. Since coming back to Downton, and now to London, Anna had dutifully braided her hair most nights. Though Mary did enjoy the simplicity of leaving her hair down in bed, it did pose a problem as her husband took great pleasure in dishevelling it.<p>

Mary laughed between gasps of breath, her pulse still racing, a slight ache spread across her thighs and down through her calves. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself, still laughing all the while.

"You do realize that laughter is probably the second least desired reaction that a man wishes to hear after he's made love to his wife, don't you?" Matthew said, licking his lips as he lay next to her, his eyes closed.

"And what would the least preferred response be?" Mary asked, sighing pleasantly as she grinned at him.

"Some would say snoring, but I disagree. One can always try and convince oneself that a woman snoring is the result of the sex being so powerful that it literally rendered her unconscious," Matthew smiled, eyes still closed.

Mary laughed again. "You would put a literal meaning to 'the little death' then, would you?"

"Precisely," Matthew nodded. "I would be far more aghast to be met by a yawn. One cannot exactly twist such a reaction to mean anything other than one particularly horrid meaning."

"That the sex was boring?" Mary smirked.

"Exactly," Matthew said. "But again, laughing is hardly welcome either. So, explain yourself, wife."

Mary moved over and rested her head against his chest. She took his hand in hers and placed them on his stomach, idly playing with his fingers.

"It's just this whole situation – you, me, us, married, living in London with our son – you must admit that after what happened to send me to Manchester, this was a rather impossible scenario," Mary said softly.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't make it a comical one, does it?" Matthew replied.

"Oh, for God's sake," Mary rolled her eyes. She lifted her head to look at him and he opened his eyes and looked at her quizzically.

"You were magnificent," Mary said pointedly. "I may not be able to walk properly in the morning and I am quite certain that I saw stars at one point. There, will that appease you?"

"Shockingly, no," Matthew grumbled sarcastically.

"You didn't marry me because I am forthright with my feelings, Matthew," Mary retorted, settling back against his chest. "And it is entirely rude to openly question how I feel about our lovemaking. Besides, I would have thought that I was more than…vocal…enough to be rather clear in how I felt about your performance."

Mary blushed fiercely, glad to be facing away from him as she gazed down his flat stomach.

"Fine," Matthew chuckled. "I suppose I have all the evidence that I require. Now, back to your musings."

"I just…" Mary began again, shaking her head. "I just can't believe it. I keep expecting something to happen to turn all of this to ashes. But even when I think about what could go wrong, I can't imagine anything so dire. If we had to leave London, I wouldn't be sad about it. If we had to relinquish control to Papa, so be it. Now that I know you won't be called to the Front and George is healthy, what more could I ask for? And yet we do have more; so much more."

"You've been so used to defeat for so long that you are having trouble absorbing what victory feels like," Matthew smiled, running his hand along her back.

"I suppose so," Mary nodded. "I suppose…we've won."

"Well, there is still the matter of the War that's going on," Matthew said lightly.

"I know that," Mary rolled her eyes. "I meant us, and I'm not even thinking about Downton. We're married and we have a son, and nothing can change that. Nothing."

"I'll remind you of that the next time George spits up on one of your expensive blouses," Matthew smiled.

"He's an angel," Mary shot back. "When it comes to ruining my clothes, his Papa is far more often at fault than he is."

"Well you aren't wearing anything right now," Matthew said, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. "Perhaps we should take advantage."

He rolled her on to her back as she laughed again, her arms circling his shoulders and pulling him down to her for a kiss.

"You know, laughing after sex is one thing, but laughing during sex is much, much worse," Matthew said between kisses.

"Mmm, then why don't you do something about it then?" Mary teased.

"Yes, my Lady," Matthew smirked, moving on top of her and kissing her once more.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Crawley House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, March 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I am very pleased to see you, Sybil, but I must admit I am rather surprised," Isobel smiled as Sybil sipped her tea.<p>

"I'm sorry that I haven't been by more often," Sybil nodded, balancing her tea cup and saucer in her hands. "But with both Mary and Edith now married and living away from Downton, I find I have more time to myself now. I thought it long overdue that I paid you a visit."

"Well, thank you," Isobel smiled. "I'm afraid we don't have much time, unfortunately. I'm due to go over to the hospital in an hour."

"Ah," Sybil nodded, looking down at her teacup.

"Sybil?" Isobel frowned slightly.

"Well, I don't suppose that you would consider me going with you, would you, Cousin Isobel?" Sybil asked nervously. "To the hospital, I mean."

"Of course you may come along, Sybil," Isobel smiled in surprise. "However, doesn't Cousin Cora have any plans for you this afternoon?"

"Nothing that can't wait," Sybil muttered.

Isobel smiled and put her teacup back down. In her time at Downton, she had learned the differences between the Crawley sisters and she found such nuances amusing. She always knew Mary was quite strong willed to have endured what she had in life, and now having met all three of the daughters, she could see that they had similar traits. Mary was just better at hiding her feelings. Sybil was an open book by comparison.

"Are you finding life without your sisters is not to your taste, my dear?" Isobel asked carefully.

Sybil met her eyes and shrugged apologetically.

"I just can't help but feel I should be doing something…something of value. There's a War going on, and Mary is supporting Cousin Matthew and raising their son, and Edith is with Sir Anthony, and I…I'm just here," she said shakily.

"Your life has changed from the direction everyone expected it to go," Isobel nodded.

"The boys who I danced with at my debut, they've all gone off to fight," Sybil explained. "Some of them…some of them have died."

"What a terrible thing," Isobel nodded in understanding, her heart clenching slightly at the thought of how despondent they would all be if Matthew had been assigned to the infantry and gone to the Front, rather than be working in British Intelligence in London.

"I'm not saying that I regret that I'm not married yet. That's not it at all, despite what Mama or Granny may think," Sybil shook her head. "But I feel as though I'm…I'm stuck, somehow. I don't know what to do with myself or how to fill each day with anything other than choosing dresses and reading and paying calls. I just feel so useless. Wasting my life while the soldiers sacrifice theirs."

"Well there is plenty to be done, if you are up to it," Isobel said lightly. "Cousin Cora was mentioning she may organize another fundraising concert shortly at Downton."

"No, I don't mean selling programs or finding prizes for the Tombola," Sybil shook her head. "I want to do a real job. Real work."

"Well, if you are serious, what about an auxiliary nurse? There's a training college in York. I know I could get you onto a course. It may be something of a rough awakening, but if Mary can do the job so admirably, I'm sure that you can as well. You would need to learn certain things before you go, of course, such as making your own bed, scrubbing the floor, basic cooking skills," Isobel said.

Sybil's face immediately brightened and she nodded eagerly. "I can do that! Well, some of it, anyway."

Isobel smiled in return. "Why don't we go and see Mrs. Bird and we can go over a few things? I'll show you some more when we get to the hospital and I'll ask Major Clarkson to place a call to York for you."

Sybil put her teacup down and stood up, beaming at Isobel. Isobel smiled and touched the young girl's chin affectionately before ushering her through to the kitchen.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You suggested what?" Mary asked, her eyes widening in alarm as she stared at the telephone.<p>

"I merely said I thought that she could make a fine nurse," Isobel explained, her voice echoing slightly over the phone. "We had a few mishaps trying to teach her how to boil water and clean dishes, but I think Sybil is very eager to learn."

"She's certainly eager, that's true," Mary said, rolling her eyes. "Mama and Granny will faint when they hear, and I'm not there to back you up, Isobel."

"I can handle them," Isobel laughed. "Besides, we've already made the call to York and gotten Sybil a place. Surely they wouldn't forbid her from going?"

"I don't know," Mary shook her head. "Deep down they were never too bothered about what would become of Edith and I, but Sybil is the baby of the family. It was bad enough when she went to the by-election years ago. Ever since then, they're afraid she'll turn into a revolutionary."

"I'm not encouraging her to do that. I'm merely helping her become an auxiliary nurse," Isobel huffed. "The talent for such a vocation must run in the family."

"I was merely a nurse's assistant, Isobel," Mary smiled. "I never took any course."

"You most certainly did. I was your teacher," Isobel retorted.

Mary laughed, then gasped slightly as she felt hands across her waist and Matthew's body slide up against her back.

"Whoever you're talking to, get rid of them," he whispered into her ear.

"Mary?" Isobel asked.

"I'm still here," Mary managed, closing her eyes as Matthew's hands moved up her front and cupped her breasts through her thin blouse.

"Please, Mary. I want you," Matthew begged against her free ear, moving down to kiss her neck.

Mary swallowed as she felt him press firmly against her.

"I was hoping you could talk to Robert," Isobel said slowly. "Cousin Cora is bound to call him about this. The less he objects to it, the more likely it is that they'll let Sybil go through with it."

"I don't know," Mary hissed, struggling to keep composed. "Papa doesn't take very kindly to anything I have to suggest, and he still blames me for planting the seeds of dissent in her."

"Do try, please," Isobel said. "I don't want them to be at odds. Sybil will be away a fair bit, and when she comes back she'll be working at the hospital. I can't have her being uncomfortable at home. It will affect her ability to work properly."

"I'll…I'll try," Mary said.

Matthew began unbuttoning her blouse, his fingers sliding against her bare stomach as he moved up her body.

"You can recruit Matthew to Sybil's cause," Isobel suggested. "Perhaps Robert will listen to him."

"That's a good idea," Mary agreed. "I'll raise it with him when he comes home from work."

"Thank you, Mary," Isobel said. "I knew I could count on you. Good bye."

"Good bye, Isobel," Mary said, fumbling as she hung up the phone.

"That was Mother?" Matthew said in shock, removing his hands from his wife and stepping away from her.

"Oh, so now you aren't so brazen, are you?" Mary said, turning towards him, her blouse half undone, her eyebrow quirked at him.

"Why didn't you warn me?" Matthew frowned. "She could have overheard us!"

"Darling, I don't quite know how to explain this to you, but I'm quite sure that your mother is well aware that we've had marital relations," Mary smirked, stepping towards him.

"I would still rather prefer it if she not listen to my attempts at seduction," Matthew rolled his eyes as Mary came into his embrace.

"Whatever happened to you wanting me desperately?" Mary teased, kissing him softly. "Not so randy anymore, are we?"

"I never said that," Matthew growled. He lifted her up suddenly, causing her to yelp in surprise. Her arms went around his neck and her legs wrapped across his waist as he carried her over to the sofa.

"Matthew!" she said quickly as he kissed her neck. "Not here! Someone could come in!"

"I locked the doors," Matthew smirked, sitting down and settling her in his lap. "Most of the servants are out running errands or buying groceries. The rest of them are wise enough to know that I do not wish to be disturbed."

His fingers quickly unbuttoned the rest of her blouse and Mary gasped in shock as he pulled it from her body.

"Matthew, we're in the library in the middle of the day!" Mary said weakly, her hand moving between them to grasp him through his trousers.

"Yes, Mary," he smiled against her shoulder as he lifted her camisole. "I'm afraid it would take too much effort to locate a spare room at the nearest hospital, so the library will have to do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>Cora frowned. She glanced over at Violet for support. Finding her mother-in-law's usual bored expression looking back at her, she focused again on Isobel.<p>

"I'm sorry, but if Dr. Clarkson needs free labour, I'd prefer him not to find it in my nursery," Cora said plainly, putting her teacup and saucer back down on the table.

"But, Cousin, Sybil isn't in the nursery," Isobel said patiently.

"No," Violet said, looking at Cora. "And in case you haven't noticed, she hasn't been there for some time."

Cora looked over at her mother-in-law and curled her lip in disappointment. She hated being outnumbered.

"You know what I mean," Cora said brusquely.

"Well, no, not really," Violet shrugged. "You can't pretend that it's not respectable when every day we're treated to pictures of queens and princesses in Red Cross uniform, ladling soup down the throat of some unfortunate."

"Yes," Isobel nodded, then glanced over at Violet quizzically. "Something like that."

"But Sybil won't be ladling soup," Cora shook her head. "She'll have to witness unimaginable horrors, and she's an innocent."

"Mary was an innocent when she came to me in Manchester," Isobel said carefully. "I thought her innocence actually protected her. She was able to approach each task and carry out her work without being disillusioned or cynical. She gave each patient her best because everything was so new to her. I imagine Sybil will be the same. And I won't permit her to face anything alone, Cousin. I'll be with her, as will other nurses and Dr. Clarkson. She won't be thrown into the trenches."

Cora sighed, looking away for a moment.

"Sybil must be allowed to do her bit like everyone else," Violet added. "You must trust that you've raised her to take on these challenges and thrive."

"Just as Mary did," Isobel agreed.

Cora turned and looked at her, her fierce glare softening slightly.

"Do you…do you truly believe that Mary succeeded thanks in some small part to me, or was it more despite what I did to her?" she asked quietly.

"I truly believe that she has an inner strength that allowed her to accomplish what she did, to not only survive, but to overcome. That came from someone, and not to offend Cousin Robert, but I don't believe she learned it from him," Isobel replied.

Cora sighed.

"Fine," she nodded.

"Thank you, Cousin," Isobel smiled, looking over at Violet, then back at Cora. "Sybil will be so pleased."

"I'm not in total agreement with this plan, however," Cora said swiftly. "When Sybil is done her course, she'll return here, not to the hospital."

"But how will she work if you keep her trapped at Downton?" Violet frowned.

"She'll work here," Cora declared. "Cousin Isobel, haven't you been telling me that the hospital is overcrowded?"

"Yes, but I don't see how that permits Sybil to remain here instead of working with Dr. Clarkson," Isobel frowned in confusion.

"We'll open some of the rooms here for convalescing soldiers," Cora said. "We can use one of the ballrooms and parts of the ground floor. I won't allow the upstairs or the library to be taken over, but some of the more stable and manageable cases can be brought here and we'll put them up while they recover."

"You'll need beds and linens and supplies," Violet said. "The furniture will need to be moved, the walls covered."

"We can arrange for all of that," Cora scoffed. "Robert will think it a grand idea that we're supporting the soldiers, and it will play well across the county and in Society. 'Earl's family takes the wounded into his Country Home'. It does have a heartwarming ring to it."

"That's…brilliant, Cousin," Isobel shook her head in surprise.

"Sybil can be part of the team that works here under your supervision and that of Dr. Clarkson and the staff that he assigns here," Cora continued.

"And you can keep a watchful eye on her," Violet chuckled.

"If she's to leave the nest, I don't think it's asking too much to insist she only fly a short way at first," Cora said haughtily.

"There will be all…sorts…of men here, Cousin," Isobel said carefully, her hopes soaring at the suggestion but feeling the need to be clear. "We won't bring the more dire patients over, but most soldiers are not nearly as…polite…as you're used to."

"The hospital area will be properly cordoned off from our part of the house," Cora replied. "Besides, I can't be picky about who stays here when each of them has put up their life for my protection, can I?"

"No, you can't," Violet said easily, looking over at Isobel in surprise.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, March 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Just think about it," Nigel said. "How do you defeat your enemy in warfare?"<p>

"Have more soldiers than he does at the end of it," Reverend Montgomery said easily, sipping his tea.

"Yes, if these were Roman times, but there are battles all across Europe and through to Africa and beyond. Total victory is impossible," Matthew said.

"Exactly," Nigel nodded. "The victor will be the side that forces the surrender of the other."

"So how do you force your enemy to capitulate?" Reverend Montgomery asked.

"Particularly when each side is comprised of multiple nations? That means multiple governments, leaders, and ideas," Matthew said.

"Precisely," Nigel pointed at Matthew in acknowledgment. "You need a show of force, something so grand that it shall convince your enemy that resistance is futile."

"But what would that be? The sides are rather evenly matched. The moment that one army gets a particular weapon, the other steals it and manufacturers something similar," Reverend Montgomery stated.

"You strike at the heart, the vulnerable underbelly of the enemy," Nigel said. "You hit them where they live."

"Berlin," Matthew said.

"Yes," Nigel nodded. "It's far too reckless a stunt for this government to try, but that's what I would do. Bomb their capital. If we show that we can reach them there, they'll be terrified. They won't be able to sleep at night."

"And how do you expect to do that when we're barely keeping them from invading France? Paris is more likely to fall than Berlin based on geography and distance alone," Reverend Montgomery said.

"I don't know. I'm merely an analyst," Nigel smiled. "But that's what I would do. Hit them there."

"The Army may not be able to reach them, but a small force perhaps could break through surreptitiously," Matthew mused.

"And how do you know that the government isn't planning such a coup?" Reverend Montgomery said. "Enough daydreaming. Get back to work."

They all turned back to their desks and took up the next pile of communications that had come across.

"Why do we assume that we're untouchable here?" Matthew asked out loud. "Is it because we're an island and not as reachable as France?"

"That's precisely why," Nigel replied, not looking up from his papers. "However would they reach London? They couldn't get through our defences, even if they were able to cross over."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Welcome home, sir," Bates said, taking Matthew's coat and briefcase from him.<p>

"Thank you, Bates," Matthew nodded. "Is Lady Mary about?"

"She's upstairs, I believe, sir," Bates replied. "She told us that dinner will be served later tonight. She's been on the telephone for most of the day."

"I see. Thank you, Bates. I'll see you at the gong then," Matthew said, walking quickly upstairs.

"Bates said that dinner has been pushed back?" Matthew asked as he came into the bedroom.

"I'm not up for it, yet," Mary sighed, adjusting herself in bed. "It's been a rather tiring day. I needed to get off my feet."

"Anything in particular?" Matthew asked lightly as he went into his dressing room and removed his blazer jacket.

"Just coordinating deliveries for the convalescent hospital at Downton," Mary called, her eyes closed. "Most of the suppliers are based here, so of course Mama felt the need for me to become involved."

"Well, you do have a way of convincing people to do your bidding when you wish," Matthew laughed, removing his shirt and trousers.

Mary turned over and opened her eyes, smirking as she watched her husband disrobe in his dressing room.

"Mama just wants to avoid dealing with the logistics, and she doesn't want Isobel to think she's incapable, so she delegated the task to me. It wasn't difficult. The beds and supplies were ordered already. They just want to make sure it's all delivered and set up in time for Sybil's return," Mary said.

"I still can't believe that your Mama agreed to it all – Sybil becoming a nurse and opening up Downton. It's very unlike her," Matthew smiled.

"It makes her appear generous and allows her to keep Sybil under watch. Believe me, it is _exactly_ like her," Mary huffed.

Matthew came out of his dressing room wearing his robe. He smiled as he came to bed and settled under the blankets next to her.

"Aren't we rather decadent?" Mary smiled lazily at him. "In bed in the late afternoon without a care in the world?"

"I wouldn't say that," Matthew smirked. "Though today was a rather good day."

"Truly?" Mary asked. "How so?"

"We received word from Washington," Matthew said quietly. "The Americans are going to declare War on Germany tomorrow. They're finally coming over."

"Oh, Matthew!" Mary exclaimed, sitting up slightly and opening her eyes wider. "That's wonderful news! They could be just the reinforcements that we need!"

"I expect it will be slow at first," Matthew warned. "Mobilizing an army takes time. It could be months before we actually see them at the Front. But the very idea that they're joining our side will hopefully strike fear into the Huns."

"Is that why you've come to bed so eagerly then?" Mary raised her eyebrow at him, her hand moving below the blankets and pulling the tie of his robe open. "You'd like to celebrate would you?"

"Well you are half American, darling," Matthew said pointedly as he moved towards her. "I feel it's only proper to thank you for saving us Brits."

Mary laughed as he removed his robe, revealing his naked body. She opened her arms and took him in, kissing him as he moved on top of her.

"Rather convenient that I delayed dinner, then, isn't it?" Mary sighed as he kissed her breasts through her blouse, his hands pulling her skirt up her legs.

"Very convenient," Matthew whispered, smiling as he heard her gasp as he pulled her drawers down her legs. "I need sufficient time to show you the depths of my appreciation, darling."

Mary arched her back, her hand moving down and curling in his hair as her hips moved of their own accord.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Have you heard from Sir Anthony?" Sybil asked as she carried a load of towels into the room.<p>

"He's in good spirits," Edith shrugged, carrying the carafes of water. "He doesn't mention much about the War in his letters. I probably prefer it that way."

"I wish you would stay here with us," Sybil said sympathetically. "I miss you, and Loxley must be terribly lonely."

"The servants are kind," Edith shrugged. "They're nice to me and do what I say despite my inability to give my husband any children."

"Don't blame yourself for that," Sybil frowned as she placed a towel on each bed. "You barely had any time together before he was called up, and you knew there would be issues with his being older."

"I suppose," Edith sighed, placing a carafe on the small table beside each bed. "When will Mary be bringing George back?"

"I've made her promise to come back for the concert in the Summer," Sybil said. "She's enjoying life in London quite a bit, but she was intrigued when Mama told her we were opening up Downton for the soldiers, and I think she wants to see how we get on."

"She's more than welcome to come help," Edith grumbled. "She was the first nurse in the family."

"I don't know if it's a good idea for her to be here or not," Sybil smiled. "She wouldn't be nearly as understanding about some of the flirting that the men get up to."

"If any of them have heard of her story, then she would be in for a constant barrage, yes," Edith laughed. "Though I still don't know how I've become so used to it. Private Lindsay asked me for a kiss after I delivered his book yesterday."

"And what did you say?" Sybil whispered in shock.

"I told him that I was a married woman, of course!" Edith blushed. "He mentioned something about giving him an incentive to get through his therapy exercises."

"And what did you say to that?" Sybul smiled.

Edith blushed as she took hold of the book cart.

"I told him to finish his exercises for a week and afterwards…I would see…" Edith muttered.

"You naughty temptress," Sybil laughed.

Edith turned bright red. "I am not! I…I mentioned it to Anthony and he said I should do what I can to comfort the soldiers, within reason of course."

"He didn't!" Sybil said in shock, her mouth falling open.

"He gave me explicit instructions on what I am permitted to do for the soldiers and what I…" Edith stopped herself and swallowed.

"And?" Sybil asked, intrigued.

"What am I to do for him when he returns on his next leave," Edith whispered, looking away from her sister.

"My, my, Sir Anthony is far more bold than any of us gave him credit for," Sybil said.

"He is," Edith nodded. She looked over and Sybil and the two of them burst out laughing.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, May 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew frowned as he ran his pencil over the page in front of him. He glanced over at the German codebook again, then looked back at his work.<p>

"That can't be," he muttered, checking over things again. When he had gone through the message several times, he finally picked up the page and got up from his desk.

"Do we have a map?" he asked no one in particular, coming over to the large table along one wall of the room.

"Here you are, Mr. Crawley," a woman said, bringing a rolled up map to him. Matthew unfurled it and placed it on the table, weighing down the corners with books. He ran his fingers along the map, beginning in London and moving out towards Belgium.

"Reverend Montgomery," Matthew called over his shoulder. Reverend Montgomery and Nigel came over and joined him at the table.

"What is it, Matthew?" Reverend Montgomery asked.

"This is a communication regarding mechanics and supplies being sent to Belgium, to Ghent in particular," Matthew said, passing the decoded message to Nigel. "It's parts and labour for aeroplanes."

"That's not unusual," Reverend Montgomery frowned, looking at the message himself. "Engine bearings and fuel tanks. What's so peculiar about that?"

"The airfield that the Germans use in Ghent is for a squadron of bombers," Matthew said, pointing to the spot on the map. "The extra fuel tanks could be to increase their effective range."

Nigel looked at the map, then frowned.

"You think they're arming a squadron to attack London?" Nigel asked.

"That's impossible," Reverend Montgomery shook his head.

"Why?" Matthew asked. "They've been sending Zeppelins at England for years. An aeroplane is much more manoeuvrable, and faster besides. I'm willing to speculate that the load would be higher as well, allowing them to deliver more bombs to the target."

"Even if they had designs on coming here, they would never make it," Reverend Montgomery scoffed. "The winds and the low cloud ceiling would deter them, not to mention our own aeroplanes and defences."

"I'd like this passed up the chain nonetheless," Matthew said. "I am prepared to take full responsibility."

"Easy, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery smirked. "Of course, I'll send it up the chain. Since when have I ever censored one of your messages?"

Matthew swallowed in embarrassment.

"I don't want you to panic, is all," Reverend Montgomery said.

"Thank you, sir," Matthew nodded sheepishly.

"Good work, Matthew," Nigel said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's hope that you're wrong though."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Mama called for you today," Mary said, taking a spoonful of yogurt.<p>

"I spoke to her," Robert said curtly. "She told me the billiards table needs to be resurfaced. Apparently one of the soldiers ruined it trying a particularly acrobatic shot."

Matthew smirked.

"It's all part of the War effort, Papa," Mary smiled. "They need to have some diversion and entertainment, you know."

"I am well aware, Mary, yes," Robert said tightly.

"Sybil and Edith are both performing admirably," Matthew interjected. "Mother says they are very good and even Dr. Clarkson has remarked on how adept they are."

"I hardly think that fluffing pillows and bringing tea are skills that should be overly celebrated," Robert scoffed.

Mary rolled her eyes.

"I suppose it's still preferable to the alternative," Robert continued. "The thought of either of them touching blood or seeing wounds is abominable."

"You can't protect them forever, Papa," Mary huffed in exasperation. "Edith is a married woman, for God's sake, and Sybil is a fully trained nurse now."

Robert glared at her.

"It's my duty to protect them, for as long as I have breath left," Robert snarled. "I don't abandon my children simply because they've reached adulthood."

"No, age isn't a factor on how much you are prepared to fight for us," Mary retorted. "Only your level of disappointment."

Robert's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Perhaps we should go check on George, darling," Matthew suggested.

"Yes, that's a good idea," Mary said, still fuming at her father.

"No," Robert said firmly. "Matthew, you can go on up. Mary, stay here."

"What?" Mary frowned.

Robert ignored her and turned his head towards Bates.

"Bates, please bring in a bottle of port and two glasses for Lady Mary and myself," he ordered.

"Yes, my Lord," Bates nodded, moving to fetch the requested items.

"Robert, we've all had a long day and…" Matthew began.

Robert raised his hand.

"Matthew, go up and see your son. Mary and I are going to sit and talk, and neither one of us are going to leave this room until we've had it out, once and for all," Robert said sternly, looking at Mary.

"I don't think that is necessarily…" Matthew said.

"Darling," Mary said, meeting her father's gaze. "Go ahead. I'll be up later."

Matthew sighed and glanced at the two of them locked in a staring contest.

"Very well," Matthew said, rising from the table. "But please let this be worth something in the end."

"That will depend on Papa," Mary snarled.

Matthew left the room and closed the door behind him. Bates brought the decanter into the room and poured a glass for each the Earl and Lady Mary.

"Leave us, Bates, and close the door behind you," Robert commanded, his eyes still looking at his daughter.

"Lock it," Mary added.

Bates complied quickly. As he came down the back stairs to the servants' rooms, Anna looked at him in concern.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"His Lordship and Lady Mary are about to have a right duel," Bates sighed, smiling at her.

"Oh my," Anna exclaimed, her eyes widening. "I hope she goes easy on him."

Bates laughed and touched her arm lightly, escorting her back to the servants' dining room.

Robert raised his glass. Mary did the same. They each took a long drink, then placed their glasses down as they appraised each other.

"You think this will work, do you?" Mary asked. "We'll argue for an hour and at the end of it, I'll come sobbing into your arms and we'll be reconciled, is that it?"

"No," Robert shook his head. "I don't expect much to change, but I won't live like this any further. As much as you will not believe me, I do not enjoy living under the same roof as you knowing that you despise me so. Perhaps that will never change, but if this is to be our relationship from now on, then at least I shall clear my conscience knowing that I did everything in my power to set things right, regardless of the outcome."

"Everything in your power," Mary laughed. "You think you can make up for years of negligence in one evening, do you?"

"Negligence?" Robert repeated. "That's hardly appropriate, Mary."

"Isn't it?" Mary asked, her eyes fiery. "Do you know the number of times that Matthew's father scolded me in the years that I knew him? None. Not once. He was the head of their family. It was my duty to obey him, just as I was raised to obey you. He never raised his voice against me. He never showed any disappointment with me, and I assure you, there were moments where I did disappoint him. Now you tell me whether the manner in which you have treated me is anything short of negligence in light of how I was treated in Manchester!"

"I will never be able to measure up to your father-in-law," Robert said quietly. "Or to your husband. I know that now. They're both saints in your eyes. They could never set a foot wrong. They saved you from the horror that I imposed upon you. Now you have your husband who worships the ground you walk on. You don't need me anymore. I'm the devil in all of this."

"Don't pity yourself. It's pathetic," Mary scoffed. "You think that's what this is all about? That I think Dr. Crawley and Matthew are perfect men? Hardly! If you think that Matthew and I often argued in front of you, you should see the number of times we argued in Manchester, you should see how often we still argue with each other in private. He's far from perfect, but I love him completely and he loves me, regardless of how often we may irritate or infuriate each other. Dr. Crawley had vices. His vices are what killed him. A part of me can never forgive him for that, and Matthew feels the same way. But we love him. We love him, faults and all because he never judged us."

"So that's it," Robert nodded, finishing his port, then refilling their glasses. "It's because I pushed you, and had ambitions for you, and wanted you to do better, that's my ultimate failure with you, is it?"

"Why did you never have such expectations or Edith or Sybil?" Mary demanded. "My path was clear. I would marry Patrick, have a son and ensure your family line continued. Why did you leave Edith and Sybil to Mama and not get as involved in their upbringing? Even after you sent me away, you did nothing to push Edith towards Patrick. Why not?"

Robert frowned. "Your Mama was perfectly capable. There was no need for me to…"

"It's because they didn't matter," Mary said caustically. "I was the eldest so everything fell to me. All of the duty, the obligation, the future of the Crawley name and the Earldom. Patrick could have married anyone, but you wanted him to marry me so you could have control. You didn't think that Edith or Sybil were up for the task of keeping him in line and being Countess. That was my mission, and when you thought that I had slept with the Turk, you thought I ruined your grand plan."

"Don't be ridiculous," Robert said, his voice wavering.

Mary laughed, then sipped her port.

"That's why we can never get past this, Papa. Do you see it now? We can each apologize and beg forgiveness or try and be civil as much as we wish. But in the end, I resent you for treating me like a pawn instead of as your daughter, and you can't think of me as anyone other than the rebellious teenager who defied you. I'm married to your heir, and I've given you a grandson, but you still expect me to disappoint you somehow, don't you?"

Robert swallowed tightly. He refilled their glasses again.

"I suppose that a part of me wants to see you fail, if only because it will show that you still needed me. To see you and Matthew so happy and doing so well, with George also, it's a constant reminder that you've reached this point in spite of me, rather than because of me," Robert said, looking at his glass.

Mary took a deep breath.

"If you expect me to correct you, I won't," Mary said quietly. "The moment I left Downton for Manchester, I learned to rely upon myself and no one else. I have many people to thank for lifting me up – Matthew, Isobel, Dr. Crawley, even Sybil and Granny to a degree."

"But not me," Robert said bitterly, looking up at her.

"I suppose I'm thankful that you didn't throw me out after I came back," Mary shrugged.

"That was your husband's idea, not mine," Robert huffed.

"I know," Mary smirked.

Robert chuckled mirthlessly.

"If you're worried about me excluding you from George's life, I won't," Mary said. "You're his only grandfather, and you're still the Earl. He needs to have a relationship with you, hopefully a better one than we did."

Robert nodded.

"I'm not worried about that, though I do appreciate you saying it," he said. "I'm worried that as time goes on, you'll need me less and less, and I won't have any relationship with you. I know that you probably think I don't deserve one, but I do worry about that."

"Oh Papa," Mary rolled her eyes. "I'm back and I'm not leaving. I couldn't avoid you entirely even if I wanted to, and I do not want to, as strange as that may sound to you."

Robert looked at her.

"Let's…go slowly," he suggested. "Each day, each moment that we see each other will be as though we are seeing each other anew. I know you can't forget our past, but I'll try not to let it affect the way that I talk to you and treat you, if you'll do the same. Hopefully, with time, we can reach an understanding that is above civility and courtesy and is closer to what a father and daughter should be."

"I won't promise that I'll not disappoint you again," Mary shook her head.

"I won't promise that either," Robert said. "You're not the first Crawley to make a mistake, and I need to remember that."

Mary looked at him suspiciously, then slowly nodded her head.

"What if I had found Matthew earlier?" Robert asked. "What do you think would have happened if I had brought him to Downton before everything went to dust?"

"I'm not sure," Mary said. "I was certainly far more humble when I met Matthew than I was before I went to Manchester. I can't say if we would have gotten along in the beginning if he would have been yet another man come to take away what I thought was my birthright. I can safely say though that he and Patrick would not have gotten along."

"Because they would have both been competing for your hand," Robert smiled.

"Papa!" Mary frowned.

"I'm an old man, but I'm not _that_ old," Robert said pointedly. "No man can even look at you without Matthew scowling. I've seen it. It's a wonder I didn't notice it before."

"My husband is entirely secure," Mary said. "He knows where my loyalties lie, and he also isn't going to keep me locked away in a cage just because other men may smile at me from time to time."

"I know," Robert nodded. "But he does like to remind people of who you are married to, doesn't he?"

"We both do," Mary said, raising her eyebrow.

Robert chuckled.

"Good night, Papa," Mary said, rising from her chair.

"Good night, Mary," Robert said, getting up himself. "I'll be staying at Sandhurst for the next while. I'll see you in a few weeks time."

"Very well," Mary nodded. She turned and slowly left the dining room, her heart feeling strangely light as she made her way upstairs towards Matthew and George.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, June 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I'm going to get some lunch," Matthew announced. "What about you?"<p>

"Go ahead," Nigel said, waving his hand. "I'm going to head home early today."

Matthew made his way down the hall and outside. The sun was shining overhead and it was unseasonably warm. He wandered down the street, debating his meal options. He preferred to eat away from the other military staff, usually at a pub or sandwich counter close by. The hour he took for lunch helped him detach himself from his job. He sometimes would take the short walk home and have lunch with Mary, or they would take George out for a stroll in the park. He had to admit that being so close to St. James Square was a benefit of working at the Admiralty Building.

He debated whether to run home now as he kept walking. Mary didn't appreciate when he would just pop in for luncheon. She preferred to have advance notice so that she could have a meal prepared for him. She also generally objected to him coming home unannounced as he tended to be rather amorous over the lunch hour. Even though they had enjoyed several delightful liaisons in the afternoons, Mary liked to know ahead of time what was in store for her when her husband came home.

He smiled to himself as he recalled their last tryst. He knew that he was pushing the lengths that the servants were prepared to feign ignorance of their bedroom activities, but he could not help himself. The fact that Robert was seldom at home and they essentially had the run of the Grantham House to themselves at all hours was a heady combination.

Matthew looked up at the bright sky, musing to himself on what he might suggest to his wife when he got home this evening. He was grateful that Mary was so willing to indulge his desires. Surely many wives of her social class would find it uncouth and repugnant for their husbands to be so voracious, but outside of some light scolding and mock insults, Mary was just as eager as he was, and it delighted him.

Matthew frowned as he noticed dark shapes in the distance. There were few clouds in the sky, making it possible to see for miles, it seemed. It was rare, but sometimes the military would fly training exercises near the Capital, though Matthew had trouble recognizing the craft that were approaching. He squinted, shielding his eyes with his hand to get a better look. There was a line of black shadows in the sky, looking like large birds, but they obviously weren't birds. They had to be aeroplanes, but what were they doing so close to London?

Matthew's eyes widened as his memory flared.

"God. Mary!" he gasped, before turning and sprinting down the street towards Grantham House.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, June 1917<strong>_

* * *

><p>"He's asleep, Milady," Anna nodded, coming into the library.<p>

"Finally!" Mary smiled. "I thought when he had such a large feeding this morning, he would go down easily, but apparently he had other ideas."

"He was rather wide-eyed when Nanny took him up," Anna nodded as she began to dust the table on the far side of the room. "He seemed interested in something."

"He takes after his Papa in that," Mary smiled. "Sometimes Matthew can't sit still over luncheon."

Anna blushed as she continued her tasks in silence.

Mary rose and walked over to the other side of the room. She picked up the telephone and asked to be connected to the Admiralty Building. With George asleep, perhaps she could convince Matthew to come home for lunch, or some other distraction.

"I'm sorry, Lady Mary. Mr. Crawley has already stepped out," came the reply.

Mary thanked the receptionist and hung up the phone. She sighed as she wandered towards the door. It would just be her for lunch it seemed.

Matthew burst through the door, causing Mary to jump slightly. He spun and his eyes bulged when he saw her. Before she could react, he reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Mary! Oh, thank God!" he said, hugging her close.

Mary frowned, her arms pinned to her sides. "Matthew? What is it? What are you doing home?"

"Anna!" Matthew called, releasing his wife and looking into the library. "Stop that, now! Round up all of the servants and bring them downstairs immediately. Everyone."

"Yes, sir," Anna said, frowning slightly at the strange request.

"Matthew, what's going on?" Mary asked in concern as she followed him quickly upstairs.

"Get George and bring him and Nanny downstairs," Matthew ordered. "Quickly, please."

"All right," Mary said slowly, following him through to the nursery. Nanny was confused by the request, given that George had just begun napping, but they bundled him up and brought him downstairs, despite his protests.

"Bates, please make sure everyone is here," Matthew called as they moved downstairs. "Gather in the servants' dining room and I'll explain."

"Yes, sir," Bates said, rounding up the rest of the staff. Grantham House was barely staffed as it was, particularly given that it was only Mary and Matthew living here mostly. As Bates counted everyone, Mary soothed George and rocked him in her arms as he slowly fell back asleep.

"I'm sorry for my haste and for alarming everyone," Matthew announced as he remained standing. "There is unfortunately another bombing attack against London that is coming imminently, and we'll need to stay down here until it's deemed safe to go upstairs."

"During the day?" Mary asked, shocked at his announcement.

"Apparently," Matthew said grimly. "I saw them approach in the distance. There were rumblings of a potential attack weeks ago, but no one expected such an attempt to work."

"The lads will get them, sir," Bates nodded.

"Let's hope so, Bates," Matthew replied. "In the meanwhile, everyone remain down here. You can go to your rooms if you like, but no one is to go upstairs."

There were murmurs of agreement and consent as Matthew motioned for Mary to follow him out into the hall.

"I didn't have a chance to warn your Aunt Rosamund," he said quietly as she joined him.

"It's all right. She's at Downton helping Mama plan for next month's concert. I hope her staff have the good sense to remain indoors," Mary said.

"Let's hope so. I don't want to risk going upstairs, even to make a brief call. It's impossible to know what targets they may be gunning for, but since Whitehall is so close by, we're at risk here," Matthew said.

"God, Matthew," Mary said, hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you're here. I was thinking of going out to the park this afternoon."

Matthew looked up as he heard a low rumble in the distance.

"That's it," he said, putting his arm around Mary and bringing her back to the others. "Everyone please crouch down and sit still. There may be shocks for a while."

He and Mary sat down and Nanny handed George to Mary. Matthew put his arms around her and she leaned into him, holding their son and looking around nervously as they waited.

The rumbling became louder and closer and the ground seemed to shake.


	34. Chapter 34

**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 1917**

* * *

><p>"You're sure that everything is all right?" Cora asked, the concern in her voice clear even over the telephone.<p>

"We're fine, Mama," Mary said. "Matthew was able to get home in time and we waited it out in the basement. Most of the attacks ended up hitting in the North End of the city, so St. James wasn't hit. What happened at Painswick House?"

"Rosamund was beside herself when Meade called, but everything is fine," Cora said. "Thank God that Matthew was there with you. I do wish you would come home with George, so that we can be more sure of your safety."

"That's what Papa said," Mary rolled her eyes. "My place is here with my husband, Mama. How could I possibly be so selfish and go back to Downton and leave Matthew here in danger? We are already lucky that he wasn't deployed to the Front. I won't be kept apart from him."

"Then at least think about sending George back here; the little dear," Cora implored. "I know you don't want to be away from him either, Mary, but please consider it. A number of children from London arrived in York after the bombings. More of them are being sent to the country, I understand."

"We can discuss it when we're back next month for the concert," Mary said finally. "I appreciate your concern, Mama, truly, but I must stand by Matthew, and our family should remain together as much as possible. I love him more than anything else in the world, and I can't just leave him to save my own skin."

"All right, dear," Cora said, giving up for the moment. "Let us know when to expect you and we'll have the car sent to pick you up. I'm looking forward to seeing what you think of all the changes around here."

"From what I hear from Cousin Isobel and Sybil, it's quite the transformation," Mary smiled. "Good bye, Mama."

Mary hung up the telephone and looked up as she heard footsteps approach.

"My, where did those come from?" Mary arched her eyebrow as Anna brought a large arrangement of roses into the library.

"Mr. Crawley had them delivered for you, Milady," Anna smiled, placing the elegant vase on the table.

"Did he, now?" Mary smiled, touching the delicate petals. The flowers weren't garish or too large. They were simple and elegant, and the deep red colour left no doubt as to her husband's intent in sending them to her.

"Mr. Crawley actually had pink and yellow flowers sent to all of the women here, Milady, with a note of thanks," Anna blushed. "It was very kind of him, though not necessary, truly."

"Nonsense," Mary scoffed. "We know that the past few weeks have been difficult for everyone, and he wanted to bring some cheer to the house. I meant what I said, Anna. If you wanted to go back to Downton, you are most welcome to. I won't hold you here if you don't feel safe."

"I could never leave you, Milady, or Mr. Crawley," Anna shook her head. "I know everyone thinks the countryside is safer, but I expect the Army won't allow London to be attacked again so easily, will they?"

"Mr. Crawley says they are strengthening the defences, yes," Mary nodded.

"Fight fire with fire, that's what my mum always said," Anna agreed.

"Well, go ahead and enjoy your flowers, Anna," Mary said. "But tell the maids that they shouldn't be writing any love notes to Mr. Crawley anytime soon. He's mine."

"Yes, Milady," Anna smiled, blushing as she curtsied and left the library.

Mary glanced over at the flowers once more, then turned back to the letter she was writing before her Mama had telephoned. She smirked to herself as she thought of how to show Matthew her appreciation when he came home from work.

* * *

><p><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, August 1917<strong>

* * *

><p>"They extended the observation towers and they're going to set up watches further out into the countryside," Reverend Montgomery said, pointing to several spots on the map. "If they catch sight of the bombers earlier, they can scramble our own aeroplanes faster to intercept them."<p>

"We're going to prioritize any communications that discuss the bombers and their strategies," Nigel added, looking at Matthew. "The whole area is on alert anyway, but if we catch a hint of anything, that could help."

Matthew looked at the map thoughtfully, glancing from the outline of London to the surrounding area.

"How are the spotters and watchtowers keeping in touch with London?" he asked.

"Through wireless," Reverend Montgomery said. "They've already strengthened the network and tested it out. If we see any of those German aeroplanes over England, we'll know."

"Good," Matthew said. "Hitting the capital in broad daylight is playing quite well over in Berlin. You can almost hear the laughter and bragging in some of their messages."

"I would expect so," Nigel nodded. "The actual damage and casualties were minor compared to the targets they could have hit, but it is a victory for them nonetheless."

"It's probably a matter of the threat being more effective than the actual damage at this point," Reverend Montgomery shook his head. "My brother has been taking his family into a Tube station at night in case of any attacks."

"Hopefully with each week that passes without incident, things will become more normal," Matthew said.

"Some good news on our side would help," Nigel said.

"Let's get back to it, then," Reverend Montgomery said grimly. "The sooner we can catch the Germans out, the sooner we can hit back at them."

Matthew turned from the map and went back to his desk, attacking his stack of papers with renewed vigour.

* * *

><p><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England August 1917<strong>

* * *

><p>Mary arched her back and breathed out. She clenched her teeth to try and keep quiet, though her moan could not be stifled entirely. She ran her hands through Matthew's hair, her thighs shaking around his head.<p>

"God!" she gasped as his lips and tongue swept across her again and again. She felt his fingers move from her breast down her side and across her thigh. She inhaled sharply in anticipation, knowing his intention and shutting her eyes as a familiar throbbing spread through her body.

Matthew pressed against her firmly and his own arousal flared as he heard and felt her release. He eased the pressure as she shook, his ego and pride soaring at being able to give her such pleasure.

"I think…" Mary gasped, swallowing and taking in air. "I think that you are making it very difficult for me to go back to Downton without you."

Matthew laughed, a low rumble that made her shiver. He kissed his way up her body, taking her in his arms as she tried to calm herself.

"I just can't spare the time, darling," he said, kissing her forehead. "I may be able to steal away for the concert, but I can't stay for the full three weeks. We're redoubling our efforts and combing over every transmission that comes through. I don't know if we're any closer to a breakthrough but I have to stay here and work."

"I know," Mary nodded, leaning over and kissing him. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Lady Mary, are you getting sentimental on me?" he teased. "I'd thought you'd be eager to rid yourself of your boring husband and get back to your country seat. Aren't you looking forward to having the attention of all those strapping young lads recuperating at Downton?"

"Don't joke about it," Mary said, nudging him in the ribs. "Besides, knowing that these same men were willing to proposition Edith speaks volumes of their standards."

Matthew laughed and kissed her again.

"I'll miss you, Matthew," she said quietly.

"Me too, my darling. Me too," he said, closing his eyes.

Matthew opened his eyes quickly as he felt her soft lips on his stomach.

"Mary?" he asked, lifting his head and watching her mischievous eyes looking back at him in the dark.

"If I'm to go without you for over a week, then I intend to get my fill, husband," she said sultrily, her hand reaching out and taking hold of him.

* * *

><p><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1917<strong>

* * *

><p>Mary sat at her vanity waiting for Anna to arrive. Her maid was always known for her diligence, so it was surprising that Mary was still waiting minutes after she'd rung the bell. Mary stared into the mirror at her reflection. She had settled back in quite easily and George seemed to be happy being back at Downton as well. The days were quite full, with Mary taking a regular shift in the hospital, catching up with Jarvis on Estate matters and spending time outdoors with George each day enjoying the warm weather. Though she was enjoying life at home, she could not wait to return to London and to Matthew in a few short days' time.<p>

"I'm sorry I'm late, Milady," Anna said as she burst into the room. She set about her duties immediately, a curious smile on her face.

"Something amiss downstairs?" Mary asked gently.

"No, nothing of the sort," Anna replied quickly. "I was just detained."

"Then why do you look as though you've been made privy to a wonderful secret?" Mary asked.

"Oh, it's not really a secret, Milady," Anna shook her head. "It's just that William asked Daisy to marry him as he's being called away for duty in the Army, and she said yes. We were all quite giddy about it."

"What?" Mary exclaimed. There were so many surprises in that simple sentence. Had she been at Grantham House for so long that she had missed the courtship between William and Daisy? The affairs of the servants were hardly her concern, but she did pride herself on knowing all the gossip in the house.

"I was not even aware that William was old enough to be called up, or that he was chasing after such a prize," Mary said offhandedly.

"For some time now, Milady," Anna nodded as she braided her Mistress' hair. "I'm glad for William that he finally won her over."

"There is something to be said for persistence, I suppose," Mary smiled, her thoughts going to Matthew and his father, and the alleged rigours that both she and Isobel had put them through leading up to marriage.

"When is the wedding? I should like to attend if at all possible," Mary asked.

"Oh, I think they're just going to do something rather simple, Milady," Anna said. "They were going to head into the Village the day before the concert."

"Oh, that won't do," Mary shook her head. "I'll speak to Mama. I'm sure we can have Travis stop by and do something more fitting in one of the parlours or the sitting room. You and Mrs. Hughes can deal with trying to find a proper dress for Daisy to wear. Leave the rest to me."

"You don't have to go to such bother, Milady," Anna said, her eyes widening in surprise. "I'm sure they would be happy with taking care of it themselves."

"Anyone who is part of our House deserves our attention, Anna, including servants," Mary declared. "That's the way things will be run when Mr. Crawley becomes Earl, and so it shall be now while I'm here to do something about it."

"Thank you, Milady," Anna nodded. "I'm sure that William and Daisy will be very grateful."

Mary smiled as Anna finished with her hair and went to the dressing room to get her nightgown and robe.

* * *

><p>"Well, if it isn't my favourite nurse," the soldier grinned, sitting up in bed as Mary approached.<p>

"I'm not your nurse, Lieutenant Marshall," Mary arched her eyebrow at him. "I told you, I'm only helping out for a short time. I'll be going back to London next week and be well rid of you by then. Now, take your pills."

Lieutenant Marshall grumbled as he took the pills from Mary. He threw them into his mouth and took a long drink of water from the cup she gave him. He handed back the empty cup and smiled at her once more.

"There, now where's my reward?" he leered.

"For what?" Mary looked at him with bemusement. "You take your pills so you can get better, Lieutenant Marshall. It makes no difference to me whether you do or not."

"Lady Edith always gives me a kiss after I've taken me pills," Lieutenant Marshall said, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

"Then you'll have to wait for her to start her shift," Mary smirked. "Her husband may allow her certain liberties in the name of seeing to your comfort, but rest assured that mine does not."

"Can't say I blame him," Lieutenant Marshall shrugged. "Look, Lady Mary, I'll be better in about a week or so, then they'll ship me back over to France. This could be your last chance to kiss me, so you should take advantage."

Mary huffed and looked down at the man. His words and his behaviour were quite uncouth, but she could also see sadness in his eyes. Rules of propriety were useless to these men when they were all resigned to dying within the following months after they were released from their convalescence. As improper as Lieutenant Marshall's conduct was, Mary did understand to a degree. Irrational or not, he thought she and her sisters were the last women he would ever see, and truly what did he have to lose in flirting with them if he expected to die soon anyway?

"Why don't you concentrate on getting better?" Mary asked, leaning towards him slightly. "And while you're at it, why don't you concern yourself with doing all you can to survive this War? Come back safe and sound and perhaps I will consider rewarding you with a kiss then."

"You…you mean that?" Lieutenant Marshall whispered.

Mary smiled sympathetically. "I'm a happily married woman, Lieutenant Marshall," she said firmly. "But if you survive the War, I will save you a kiss, a _polite_ kiss."

Lieutenant Marshall grinned widely. "How about you show me exactly where this polite kiss will be?" he asked cheekily.

Mary rolled her eyes and swiped her thumb across his face. "There. Now you're due for exercises shortly so get yourself together, please."

"Yes, ma'am!" Lieutenant Marshall saluted crisply.

Mary moved on to the next bed, blushing slightly at Lieutenant Marshall's eagerness. Little did the soldiers know, but their catcalls and whistles and innuendo only made her miss Matthew all the more. She couldn't be bothered to become riled up at the boorish actions of the men under her family's care. They were all much more reserved around Sybil, mainly because Isobel rarely let the youngest Crawley girl attend to the soldiers alone. To her surprise, Mary had not heard any reference to her supposed scandal either. She feared that one of the men would make some vile remark that she spread her legs for him since she'd already done that numerous times before. Thankfully, no such horror had occurred. It was rather ridiculous, but Mary at least respected that the men leered at her because they found her attractive, rather than because they thought she was the kind of girl who would give in to their demands.

"Hello, Dudley," Mary smiled, approaching a young man reading a book.

"H—hello, Lady Mary," Dudley nodded politely. He blushed as he set the book aside and waited for Mary to give him his pills.

"Mrs. Crawley says you're doing very well, Dudley," Mary nodded as the boy took his pills and drank his water. "Are you feeling much better?"

"Y—yes," Dudley replied, handing back the cup to her.

"Is there anything else you need?" Mary asked.

"N—no! That is, no thank you, Lady Mary," Dudley said, blushing profusely.

"All right then, Dudley. Have a good day and I'll see you tomorrow," Mary smiled. She reached out and squeezed the boy's hand. He jumped slightly at the contact and stared at her with wide eyes as she smiled and turned away.

Mary shook her head as she collected towels and linens from two more beds and turned for the side room where they kept everything that needed to be laundered. Lieutenant Marshall had confided to her that Dudley had never had a girlfriend or even kissed a girl before. Dudley was obviously infatuated with her, and she found him adorable and harmless, but it was all so sad just the same. She thought back to a conversation she had with Matthew about soldiers and brothels and ladies of the night in Paris. She found such indulgences lascivious and wrong, but she had to admit that Matthew was right that when faced with the prospect of death, a desperate man could do anything for the touch of a woman, if only for one night.

"If I didn't already know that my son misses you desperately, I would try and convince you to stay," Isobel smiled, coming into the room. "It's as though you never left the Royal Infirmary, Mary."

"Oh no, Sybil's the nurse in this family, now," Mary shook her head, smiling at her mother-in-law's praise. "I'm just helping out while I'm here. It's nothing."

"It is the very opposite of nothing," Isobel said seriously. "These men, Mary, they're…well, broken, in many ways. I know that Sybil is well trained and Edith is trying her best, but neither of them have the experience that you do. Neither of them are used to this type of work – not only helping the men heal but also talking to them, listening to them, even giving them a bit of a shove every once in a while. It makes them feel normal, Mary, and there is no price that can be placed on such treatment."

"Thank you," Mary blushed. "I had a very good teacher back in Manchester."

Isobel smiled as they came back out into the hospital area.

"Have you heard from Matthew? I didn't know if he called Crawley House yesterday after I spoke with him," Mary asked.

"I spoke to him, yes," Isobel said. "He apologized that he wouldn't be able to come for the concert and he begged me to ensure you left on time. He said that the future of the War depended on it as he was useless at work not having you with him."

"He didn't," Mary frowned in shock.

"Perhaps not in so many words, no," Isobel smiled. "But I know my son."

"I don't know why my absence should trouble him," Mary said lightly. "He should be used to me being away from him, after what I put him through in the early years of our marriage."

"That's probably why he's so anxious for your return," Isobel nodded. "He knows very well what it's like to be without his wife, and he does not wish to relive it ever again."

Mary swallowed and looked down at the floor as she followed Isobel to the table where the pitchers of water were kept. She did not have any secrets from her mother-in-law, but she did not feel it was proper to voice precisely what her own feelings were on being apart from Matthew, or how desperate she was becoming to be back with him either.

"Now, Cousin Cora mentions that you'll be singing in the concert?" Isobel asked.

"Edith has trapped me into it," Mary rolled her eyes. "Apparently some of the singers who were going to come over from Durham can't make it, so if she and I don't perform something, there won't be any women in the show."

"Well we can't have that," Isobel smiled wryly.

"No, Heaven forbid that the men should merely be entertained by magicians and jugglers," Mary smirked.

"I am looking forward to it," Isobel nodded. "It should be fun, and that is always welcome during War."

"I agree," Mary said. She kept her thoughts on the type of fun she would be having once she returned to London to herself.

* * *

><p>"Congratulations, William. Congratulations, Daisy," Cora smiled at the two servants.<p>

"Thank you, Your Ladyship," William bowed low.

"Thank you, Your Ladyship. It was ever so nice for you to do this for us," Daisy added.

Cora smiled as the newlyweds moved on to speak with Carson and the other servants.

"They look so sweet together," Sybil smiled, watching them.

"It's a shame that he's been called to War," Edith said. "He's so young."

"It was only a matter of time, sadly," Cora said. "I do hope he takes care of himself. I hate to think of any of the servants not coming back to us."

"So far, they're all still alive," Mary said. "We should be grateful for that, at least."

"We'll keep him in our prayers and hopefully this War will end soon and he'll be back," Sybil said.

"Yes," Mary said, watching Daisy shyly eating a piece of cake given to her by William. "Let's pray that someone will watch over young William."

* * *

><p>"That's it. We're up!" Edith whispered.<p>

"Is anyone going to announce us?" Mary asked, looking over at her.

"Yes, you are," Edith said, walking briskly down the aisle and going to the piano.

"Of course," Mary rolled her eyes. She squeezed Sybil's hand, then got up from her chair. She rolled her eyes as a few whistles came out from the crowd as she walked. Reaching the front of the room, she turned around and looked out over the audience, the men looking back at her expectantly.

"Most you won't know how rare it is to see my sister Edith – Lady Strallan – and I putting together a double act," Mary announced.

"I'd pay good money to see that!" someone said a bit too loudly.

Cora frowned in the direction of the unknown heckler.

"But in wartime," Mary continued. "We – like all of you – have more important things to worry about than petty matters of the past. So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the Crawley sisters."

Cheers and applause rang out across the room, the soldiers responding far more loudly than Cora, Violet, Isobel or Sybil.

"I know this must seem terribly rude to you, but they don't mean anything by it," Isobel whispered to the Dowager Countess.

"They mean a great deal by it," Violet frowned. "But thankfully everyone is well aware that nothing will ever come from their efforts."

"I think that Edith and Mary, and even Sybil, should be commended for their patience and restraint. I know it's not what you would want for them, but they all do very good work despite the…enthusiasm…of the men," Isobel said.

"Oh, there's no need to glorify any of it," Violet huffed, sharing a glance with Cora before looking back up at Mary. "Edith and Mary are hardly the first women to ever be objectified in this house."

Isobel blinked in surprise at Violet's comment, then turned to the front of the room as Edith began playing the piano.

'_Sometimes, when I feel bad, and things look blue…'_

Mary's voice was beautiful and floated across the room. She sang easily, smiling as she went through the verse. When she reached the chorus, she nodded towards Carson and he cleared his throat and began to sing, signalling everyone else in the room to join in.

'_If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy…'_

Mary looked from one face to another, keeping the tune as she watched the soldiers smiling back at her. She was genuinely glad to be able to give them some enjoyment, even for a short few minutes. There were soldiers in wheelchairs, soldiers with bandages about their heads, soldiers with their arms in slings and their legs in casts. Sitting for a simple concert was a privilege in these days of War, and if she could make this brief time that many of them were able to spend outside of a hospital bed memorable, she was proud to do it.

'_We could go on loving in the same old way…'_

Mary nodded as Edith played a short interlude. The room fell silent, waiting for Mary to take up the next verse by herself.

She never got the chance.

'_A garden of Eden just made for two...'_

Mary blinked in surprise and turned in the direction of the voice that interrupted her song. Matthew walked in from the side door, moving past Edith to stand next to Mary. He was wearing the dress uniform issued to him when he finished his training. The suit was spotless as he had only worn it once. Gazing at him in shock as he continued to sing, Mary shook herself as he arched his eyebrow at her and nodded towards the audience. She recovered and joined him, turning the song into an impromptu duet.

'_I would say such wonderful things to you…'_

The soldiers joined back in for the closing chorus, and cheers and applause greeted them when the song was over. Matthew clapped along, nodding towards Cora and Violet. He then motioned towards Edith, which led to another round of applause as she rose from the piano and curtsied to the crowd. Mary just stared at Matthew, still in disbelief that he was here.

"Come on, darling," Matthew whispered as he gently pushed her to move. "We're taking time away from the next act."

She walked down the aisle with his hand on her back. They sat back down, Sybil having already set aside a place for them to sit together. As they listened to a soldier giving a poetry reading, Mary reached her hand over and laced her fingers with her husband's, settling their joined hands on his thigh.

* * *

><p>"You, Mr. Crawley, are a liar," Mary said, arching her eyebrow at her husband as he removed his robe. "You told me and your mother that you wouldn't be able to make it for the concert."<p>

"Actually, Mother was in on the surprise, as was Cousin Cora, Sybil and Edith," Matthew said lightly, coming over to stand at his side of the bed. "So I'm not a liar, just a manipulator."

"Playing games with your wife is hardly proper behaviour, Matthew," Mary frowned, crossing her arms in front of her. She was sitting up in bed, trying to look as angry as possible, which was rather difficult given the playful curl to her lips.

"I didn't want you to have advance notice of my arrival, lest the soldiers be quite angry that I was coming here to steal away the object of their desire," Matthew smiled. "And truly, I didn't know if I would make it in time. I was only able to leave the office early given that it's a Friday, but in return I promised to work Sunday afternoon."

"Well, you can go back to London tomorrow on your own," Mary said. "I won't ride back with a man who delights in taking advantage of me in such a fashion."

"Oh, make no mistake, darling," Matthew said, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "I have every intention of taking advantage of you."

She stared as he revealed more and more of his bare chest to her.

"You presume a great deal," she said quietly, not averting her eyes. "You think you can waltz in here, warble a few lines of a song and be invited into my bed with open arms, do you?"

"I do," Matthew nodded, dropping his shirt to the floor and coming to bed. "Though you need not open your arms right away, darling. I rather enjoy when we wrestle."

Mary laughed out loud as he tickled her sides and kissed her neck. He pushed his leg between hers and moved his lips to her mouth.

"Haven't you missed me?" he asked lightly as she continued to laugh from his searching fingers.

"Yes!" she yelped, shaking and slapping at him in vain. "Desperately! Now, stop it!"

"Stop what?" he joked, stilling his fingers as he looked down on her with a grin.

"Stop talking and make love to me. Now," Mary commanded.

Matthew grinned, then kissed her firmly, humming happily when he felt her tongue push into his mouth. He reached down to the hem of her nightgown as she slid her hands past his pyjamas and squeezed his bottom.

With a firm shove that shocked Matthew, Mary turned her arms and chest and forced him on to his back. She swept her leg over his and sat across his thighs, smirking at him. Without a word, she raised her nightgown above her head and threw it to the floor. He gasped and reached for her bare breasts, stroking them as he looked up at her dark eyes.

Mary leaned forward, allowing him his prize. She swivelled her hips suggestively, then moved her hands down and deftly pushed his pyjamas down. Her eyelids fluttered as she quickly took hold of him and guided him inside her, smiling wickedly as he groaned from her touch.

Matthew forced himself to keep his eyes open as he watched her move above him. After several moments, he could not stop himself from responding, thrusting up with his hips as she pushed down with hers. As he watched her, captivated by her movements and her clouded expression, he had a fleeting thought that made him smile widely.

The walls at Downton were thicker than the walls at Grantham House.

* * *

><p><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, August 1917<strong>

* * *

><p>"Excellent shot!" Lord Grantham said as Matthew sunk the last ball on the billiard table. Robert did not enjoy losing, but he sipped his whiskey contentedly in this instance. He and Matthew had played five games now and Mary had sat nearby the entire time. That she would be willing to be in his company for this long, and for it not to be due to a meal, was a decent step for them, and he didn't want to ruin it by being upset about Matthew's streak of wins.<p>

"Well done, darling," Mary said as she lightly clapped her hands in appreciation.

"Mary, you did not warn me about Matthew's abilities," Robert smiled. "I assumed he would be more adept at football than billiards."

"He's adept at both, Papa, among other sports," Mary smiled, sipping her wine. "He frequented numerous dens of ill repute in Manchester, you know."

"Well, he wouldn't be the first Crawley man to do so, I'm sorry to say," Robert chuckled.

Mary smiled in understanding.

Matthew chalked his cue, preferring to remain silent. He was not particularly invested in whether Mary ever properly reconciled with Robert or not, but whether she cared to admit it, her relationship with her Papa was a source of strain for his wife, and so if there was any progress in their regard for each other, it would do her some good.

"Now, before Matthew wounds your pride even more, I need to steal you away for a word," Mary said.

Robert blinked in surprise.

Matthew looked at Mary and then nodded his understanding.

"I'll go up to the nursery and regale my sleeping son with tales of my victory over his Grandpapa," Matthew said. "Good night, Robert."

"Good night, Matthew," Robert nodded, keeping his eyes on Mary.

Mary waited until her husband had left the room, and the door was securely closed behind him.

"You have a request, I presume?" Robert said, finishing his drink and going over to the bar for another. "How can I help you, Mary?"

"It's regarding your footman, William," Mary said, watching him as he filled his glass, then turned slowly around to face her. "Will you be supervising his training at Sandhurst?"

"I'm not sure," Robert answered. "It was one thing to keep Matthew out of my group for the sake of appearances. A footman is a few degrees more removed, to say the least. I am saddened that William is being shipped out. A young man with his whole life ahead of him and a new wife shouldn't have to face such horrors."

Mary watched him carefully as he walked back to the billiards table, sipping his drink thoughtfully. Though the large table separated them, Mary felt oddly close to her Papa for the first time in a long while.

"Couldn't you find a way to help William, Papa?" Mary asked. "Once his training is complete, surely he could be assigned to a battalion that isn't in the mix of the worst fighting in France."

Robert looked over at her curiously. "Once again you have a strange view of the world, Mary. I may think highly of William and wish him well, but I don't control his assignment. I may be able to guide his training under certain circumstances, but I don't have any power over the Army."

"But you do have connections," Mary persisted. "And I dare say that now is the time to call in whatever favours we are owed. William is the youngest of the servants to go to War, Papa. Surely he deserves as much protection as anyone?"

"You're being rather vociferous on behalf of a servant," Robert noted. "I wasn't aware that you had any interest in William's fate."

"We all like him," Mary shrugged. "And besides, as his employer and benefactor, you have an interest in his survival."

"I don't know who you think I am to be able to move men around as though they were pawns on a chessboard," Robert said.

"I thought you were the Earl of Grantham," Mary said, arching her eyebrow at him.

Robert sighed. "I'll do my best, but only because you asked me to. I care about William, but I care about you more, and if this is truly important to you, then I will put my mind to it. Though, if I am not successful, I hope you shall not hold it against me. I can only promise you my effort, Mary, not the result."

Mary blinked at his declaration.

"Thank you, Papa," she said.

"Good night, Mary," Robert said quietly.

"Good night," she replied, turning and leaving the room to rejoin her husband and son.

* * *

><p><strong>St. James Park, London, England, September 1917<strong>

* * *

><p>"It could be nothing," Matthew shrugged.<p>

"But you don't think that it's nothing," Mary smiled.

"It doesn't matter what I think. I'm not in command," Matthew grumbled.

"It matters to me," Mary said. "And if command had listened to you months ago, perhaps that daylight bombing could have been stopped."

"You give me too much credit," Matthew shook his head, squeezing her hand.

"Well, don't get used to it," Mary smirked.

Matthew turned and glanced over at Anna as she pushed the pram. The maid was looking out across the park, the sun shining down on them.

"He's asleep," Mary said, drawing his attention back to her. "Don't stare. You'll make Anna think she's doing something wrong."

Matthew shook his head and smiled at his wife.

"Now, out with it," Mary instructed. "There's no one here but us and the birds, darling."

"It was a message sent over a month ago, but it was a typical report, similar to ones we've seen countless times before, so no one paid much attention to it. It was a summary of deployments and troop movements. Usually, we're well aware of where they're going so these reports become repetitive," Matthew explained.

"However…" Mary prodded him.

"However in this one they mentioned that two sailors were executed and others were imprisoned at a shipyard in Wilhelmshaven, on the North Sea. There were no details or explanations, just the fact that it happened," Matthew continued.

"And?" Mary asked.

"Well, soldiers aren't executed by their own Navy unless they do something very wrong, such as attempt to desert, or revolt," Matthew said.

"And you think that's what happened there?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "There's no reason to report such incidents to other bases and embassies unless the Germans want to send a very specific message to their forces. It's a demonstration of power, meant to deter any others who may have thoughts along the lines of what those two unfortunate men shared."

"But why would anyone in the German Navy want to revolt? The papers all claim that the Germans defeated us at Jutland," Mary said.

"Well, there's mixed views on that now, but you're right. What possible reason would anyone have for opposing their superiors, unless they believe that the War isn't going well for them?" Matthew said.

"Do you think that they're becoming disillusioned?" Mary asked.

"It's impossible to know for certain," Matthew said. "But, if members of the German Navy are revolting, and the government feels it necessary to send a message so no one else follows suit, it may mean that morale is lower amongst the enemy than we thought. It may mean they are on the verge of giving up."

"Which would end the War," Mary said, nodding at his analysis.

"Possibly, yes," Matthew said, squeezing her hand and looking across the park at Anna pushing George along the path. "We may be closer to victory than we realize."


	35. Chapter 35

**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, October 1917**

* * *

><p>"Welcome home, sir," Bates said, taking Matthew's coat and briefcase.<p>

"Thank you, Bates," Matthew nodded. "Lady Mary and Master George are upstairs in the nursery, are they?"

"No, sir," Bates said. "Lady Mary is actually in the parlour, with Lady Edith, sir."

"Edith?" Matthew raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I wasn't aware that she was paying us a visit."

"It seems it was rather…last minute, sir," Bates nodded.

Matthew thanked the valet and went down the hall. He frowned as he heard sobbing the closer he got to the parlour.

"Matthew! Oh, you're home, finally," Mary sighed in relief. She rose from the sofa and came over and embraced him tightly. Matthew blinked in surprise as he held her. Mary generally frowned on being demonstrative in front of her family, even though Edith and Sybil were entirely supportive of their marriage.

"Hello, darling," Matthew said softly. He then looked past her shoulder and smiled at his cousin. "Edith…what brings you here?"

It was obvious that it had been Edith who was crying when Matthew came home. Her eyes were slightly red and puffy, and she dabbed at them with a frilly handkerchief. She rose nervously and composed herself.

"Cousin Matthew…hello," she said shakily.

"Edith has some horrible news, I'm afraid," Mary said, stepping out of his hold and taking his arm as she guided him back to the sofa. She motioned for Edith to sit back down. Matthew sat down next to Mary and looked at Edith expectantly.

"Anthony's missing," Edith said, her lip quivering. "He was out on patrol with some other soldiers and they all just…vanished. No one's heard back from them for two days. I know that messages from the Front can be delayed, but I can't help but think the worst."

"Edith received a telegram at Loxley this morning," Mary explained. "She tried to reach Papa at Sandhurst but he was indisposed. Then she caught the next train here."

"I know it was a stupid thing to do," Edith shook her head. "I should have just stayed at home, but I felt so useless there, and going to Downton was no better. Just the thought of having to face the patients without knowing what's become of Anthony, I…"

"It's all right," Matthew interjected, trying to stop her from bursting out into tears again. "We can make some inquiries and see if we can't find out some more information. There are many reasons why Sir Anthony may not have been in touch as of yet. He may have simply gotten lost and is taking a while longer to return to base, or perhaps one of his comrades picked up a knock and they had to go to a field dressing station. Let's not jump to any conclusions."

Edith nodded, pursing her lips.

"I was able to reach Papa after Edith arrived," Mary said. "He's sent messages to the War Office and he's going to call and bring us up to date on his efforts later this evening. Is there anything else we can do?"

"I'll telephone Reverend Montgomery," Matthew said. "Robert's contacts are probably best, but there's no harm in making more inquiries. Edith, you'll join us for dinner, of course, and Mrs. Bute can have your room made up for you. There's no use going home tonight, but I think you should take tomorrow morning's train back to Downton. If anything does come up about Sir Anthony, they'll contact you at Loxley House and you should be there. We'll call if we discover anything."

"Thank you, Cousin Matthew; Mary," Edith nodded.

"Come upstairs with me. We can look in on George, then get ready for dinner," Mary said, rising from the sofa.

Matthew stood up and watched as Mary guided Edith out the door and down the hall towards the stairs. It was peculiar to see the sisters together this way, but he was glad that Mary was here to support Edith when she arrived. He expected she was a wreck when she showed up on their doorstep. He shook his head sadly as he headed to the library to make his telephone call.

* * *

><p><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1917<strong>

* * *

><p>"What is he doing now?" Matthew asked, his voice sounding anxious over the telephone line.<p>

"The same thing he was doing five minutes ago, darling," Mary said, rolling her eyes. "Your son is napping upstairs, and with any luck he'll still be napping five minutes from now, so you needn't bother asking again."

"I just miss him, and his Mama," Matthew sighed.

"Darling, please don't make me feel worse than I already do," Mary said. "But with Edith now having Anthony as her sole charge, they're short staffed here. You know that I put off Mama for as long as I could."

"I know that," Matthew relented. "But it's rather annoying coming home and only having Bates and Mrs. Bute to keep me company."

"I told Papa that he didn't need to come along, but he was insistent," Mary replied.

"He wanted to check in on Sir Anthony, and he probably feels an obligation to support Edith as well," Matthew said.

"Yes, of course, and I suppose I should be glad for his effort, at least for Edith's sake. Anyway, you'll be here in a few short weeks as we get ready for Christmas, so we'll be reunited before you know it," she said, trying to sound cheerful.

"I am counting on some early presents for having to go without my wife for so long," he grumbled.

"Matthew," she warned, blushing at his words.

"I mean it, Mary," he said firmly.

"Given that it's my birthday and our anniversary first, I would expect some presents of my own," Mary said smugly.

"Don't worry about that," Matthew drawled. "I already know exactly what I'm going to give you."

Mary blushed even more.

"I have to go. Sybil will be wondering where I wandered off to," she said. "I'll speak to you tomorrow."

"Promise?" he asked.

"Yes, I promise," Mary rolled her eyes. "Since when did you become so needy?"

"Since I haven't had a proper kiss since you've been gone," he retorted petulantly. "To say nothing for anything else."

"Goodbye, darling," Mary smiled, hanging up the phone.

She came out of the library and headed back towards the hospital wing. She and Sybil had another hour left on their shift and Mary was looking forward to going up to her room to rest a bit. The hospital had taken on a number of injured soldiers returning from Passchendaele and Mary seemed to be on her feet from morning until the dinner hour. The types of injuries and afflictions they were seeing in the men had grown harsher as well, such that many under their care were no longer actually convalescing, but rather adjusting to what would now be their life going forward, sometimes without the use of a finger, hand or limb.

"There you are," Sybil said as Mary came into the small room to retrieve linens. "Anna and I thought you'd escaped for the day."

"If only that were true," Mary sighed. "I was dealing with a whinging husband."

"I don't see why he's so put out by you being here," Sybil smiled. "He should be going out with his mates now that the Mrs. isn't around."

"He doesn't call me 'the Mrs.' thank you," Mary said pointedly, frowning at her sister. "And Matthew hates going to parties without me, which means he goes home and reads and mopes and becomes rather insufferable."

"Well he'll be here soon enough for Christmas," Sybil said, picking up a stack of towels.  
>"That's what I told him," Mary said lightly, following her sister back out into the hospital area. "Did you hear from Edith?"<p>

"Cousin Isobel just came back from Loxley House," Sybil replied. "There hasn't been much improvement. Dr. Clarkson fears that he may have permanent damage."

"So his arm will be in a sling forever?" Mary asked in shock.

"Possibly," Sybil shook her head. "I can't imagine what this must be doing to Edith."

"Oh, don't worry about her," Mary said. "If anything, this will make her love him all the more. You know how much she enjoys a charity case. She'll make taking care of him her life's work."

"You shouldn't be so unkind," Sybil frowned.

"I'm not," Mary shrugged. "I have every confidence that Edith will stand by her husband no matter his condition. I'm giving her a compliment, Sybil."

"But what about…" Sybil stopped, glancing around, then lowering her voice. "What about children?"

"Oh God," Mary rolled her eyes. She glanced around as well, then whispered back to Sybil. "He was shot in his arm…not in…not anywhere else. He's still perfectly capable of having a child with her."

"I suppose I never imagined that Edith would be a nursemaid for the rest of her life," Sybil said sadly.

"You knew that it was always a possibility, given their difference in age," Mary said as they went about placing towels and blankets on the beds. "It may be happening sooner than even I thought, but Sir Anthony is, if nothing else, resilient. And with any luck, this will keep him out of the War, which is something to be grateful for."

The sisters shared a knowing glance before they each went down a separate aisle and checked on their patients.

"Captain Evans, can I interest you in a book? We have anything you like," Mary said, coming over to one of the patients.

"I have a letter from my girl here," the patient said, holding up an envelope. "I'm…I'm having some trouble reading it," he sighed.

Mary sat down in the chair next to the bed. She took the envelope from his outstretched hand and smiled kindly. The bandages around his forehead obscured his eyes slightly, and his vision in one eye was still blurry.

"Would you like me to read it to you?" Mary asked.

"If you could, thank you, Nurse Crawley," he nodded. "There might be some…erm…well, there might be some private words meant just for me, I'm afraid."

Mary frowned slightly, then blinked in realization.

"You can stop anytime," Captain Evans said quietly.

"Don't worry about me, Captain," Mary smiled, unfolding the letter. "I'm not as delicate as you may think."

* * *

><p><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1917<strong>

* * *

><p>"I find that this year, more than any other year in recent memory, gives us so much to be thankful for," Robert said, looking across the dinner table. "Not only is it dear George's first Christmas, and soon to be his first birthday, but this year marks so many changes for all of us. Things may not have played out entirely as we expected or even hoped, but we are all still together and our family remains intact, and that is itself a blessing that many can only dream of in these times."<p>

Robert looked over at Sir Anthony, who nodded in understanding. Anthony turned and Edith squeezed his hand.

"Let us toast then, to seeing another year draw to an end, and the hope that this next year will see the end of the War," Robert said raising his glass.

"Hear, hear," Matthew said, raising his glass to Mary.

They all ate and talked and even laughed a little. Aunt Rosamund had just come down and was surprising even herself at how much she enjoyed chatting with her mother and Isobel Crawley. Cora spoke to Sybil about the holiday schedule for the hospital and what they might do to give the men a proper Christmas meal. Edith suggested bringing her staff from Loxley House to Downton Abbey for the Servants' Ball in a few weeks time and Robert and Anthony both thought it was a fine idea.

"Did you ever envision it would be like this?" Matthew asked, smirking at Mary.

"Something akin to a normal dinner with a normal family?" Mary smiled at him.

"Something like that, yes," Matthew said softly.

"They wouldn't even notice if we were here or not," Mary nodded, surveying the table. "I think I like that."

"That's good," Matthew smiled. "For I intend to go up early and look in on George, and you will be coming with me."

"So direct, Matthew," Mary said lightly, arching her eyebrow. "And what do you intend to do once we retire early?"

"Continue what we've been doing for the past week – make up for lost time, darling," Matthew said, looking at her intently before going back to his meal.

Mary blushed and focused on her chicken rather than glance at his smug look.

"You only have yourself to blame, you know," he said quietly, murmuring out of the corner of his mouth. "It was unfair in the extreme to send me such a…vivid…letter when I still had over a week left before arriving here."

"I was inspired to write," Mary replied, reaching for her wine as her cheeks flushed pink.

* * *

><p>George's first birthday was a grand affair, though Mary deliberately kept the number of guests to a minimum. She wanted only family to attend. There would be time to invite all the Village children in later years. The boy could now walk, albeit only for a few steps and rather clumsily. Mary had him dressed in what Matthew called the smallest buttoned shirt he'd ever seen, and a smart pair of pants to match. The moment they brought him down to the sitting room, he was surrounded by his aunts and grandparents while Carson and Bates brought his presents forward. Mary and Matthew stood back, shaking their heads ruefully at the sight.<p>

"You're sure that nothing unforeseen will come up to delay us?" Matthew asked quietly.

"Well I can hardly be expected to predict the unforeseen, can I?" Mary looked at him incredulously. "However, that unlikely possibility aside, yes, I promise that we will leave the day after the Servants' Ball and be back in London in time for dinner."

"Dinner? I thought we would be back for luncheon if we left in the morning," Matthew said.

"Darling, you can't possibly expect Anna and Bates and Nanny to be ready to go first thing in the morning," Mary rolled her eyes. "It's their party. They'll need most of the next morning to recover, I expect."

"Fine," Matthew grumbled.

"I do hope that the New Year brings an improvement in your moods," Mary teased.

Matthew smiled sheepishly.

Mary patted his arm affectionately, then walked over to wrest control of the party back from her parents. She sat down with George in her lap and helped him open his birthday presents. Matthew stood close by, smiling as his son clapped and babbled happily as each new toy was unveiled.

* * *

><p>"Mary? There you are. What are you doing out here, and without a coat no less? Aren't you cold?" Matthew frowned, coming up to his wife and wrapping his arms around her waist.<p>

"Not anymore," Mary smiled, leaning back against him. She allowed him to pull her closer and she looked up at the starlit night sky.

"I will say that the stars are quite a bit brighter out here in the country," Matthew smiled, looking up with her. "It makes me think I only ever saw half of them whenever I looked at the sky over Manchester."

"Mmm," Mary smiled. "That is still the happiest Christmas I can remember, you know? Standing outside with you, just married, listening to your Papa tell us about Orion and Pegasus and Andromeda. It was so peaceful, Matthew."

"It was," Matthew nodded, kissing her cheek. "I think about that night every time I look at his old binoculars. I'm still angry that he let you use them instead of me."

Mary laughed. She turned around and snuggled closer to him.

"I can't wait to tell George all about him," Mary smiled, closing her eyes and leaning into Matthew's chest. "I think Isobel has already been showing him photo albums."

"She has," Matthew nodded. "She'll be sending for the scrapbooks next."

"We should take him back to Manchester," Mary mumbled, revelling in the warmth of his body. "When this dreadful War is finally over. We should take him there and show him around. I'm sure he'll love it."

"When the lads come back and United plays competitive matches again, I'm going to take him to Old Trafford," Matthew said proudly. "Papa took me to my first match when I was two, so I've got almost a year to beat him."

"So competitive," Mary laughed.

"Come on, let's go inside," Matthew said gently. "I think everyone's had their fill of Mrs. Patmore's eggnog by now and it'll be time to say goodnight to Mama and Cousin Violet soon enough."

He put his arm around Mary's shoulders and guided her back towards the house. Mary took one last look up at the sky before they went in.

"It truly is beautiful here, isn't it, darling?" she asked lightly.

"Yes, Mary," Matthew smiled, leaning over and kissing her softly. "It truly is."

* * *

><p><strong>Furneaux House, Belgravia, London, England, January 1918<strong>

* * *

><p>"I'm so sorry, John," Matthew shook his head, patting his friend on the back.<p>

"Oh, don't be, Matthew," Viscount Simon shrugged. "All politicians are meant to be voted out of office one day, you know. Besides, it's probably best that I take a step back and re-evaluate things."

"Before getting ready to run again, you mean?" Matthew smiled.

"Of course. The people need me, Matthew. We can't let those bloody Tories run the country," John smirked.

They raised their glasses to each other and drank, both of them looking out across the busy ballroom thoughtfully.

"I've read the reports," John continued. "You're doing brilliant work, Matthew. Well done."

"Not brilliant enough, I'm afraid. The War is still going on," Matthew sighed.

"With the Americans now on our side, we're seeing some progress, though not as quickly as we'd like, of course," John said. "Still, there's cause for optimism, at least compared to last year."

Matthew nodded in acknowledgment. He glanced over across the room and found Mary speaking with Lady Ellen. He smiled as his wife laughed and sipped her drink. When they first arrived at Downton years ago, Matthew was dreading these types of stuffy parties full of pompous people almost more than facing her family. He was always uncomfortable around snobs and aristocrats who droned on about how much money they had and what latest toy they'd purchased. But the War had changed even the coldest of blue bloods, and Matthew enjoyed these parties more and more now. There was an air of frivolity to them, albeit still with a proper decorum of course, but they were now rather fun. It was as though Society understood that they had limited time these days to enjoy good music, good food and drink and good company, and so these affairs were not nearly as staid and boring as they once were.

Matthew frowned as he noticed a lithe figure moving towards Mary.

"Excuse me, John," Matthew said. "I need to go speak to Mary about something. I'll be back in a moment."

Matthew did not wait for John's acknowledgment before he began making his way through the crowd toward his wife.

* * *

><p>"My, Ellen, you didn't tell me this party was so…inclusive," Lady Sarah Kensington said haughtily, glaring at Mary with a superior air. "I thought charity season didn't begin until April."<p>

"Sarah, please," Ellen rolled her eyes, whispering so as not to be overheard. "There's no need to be confrontational. Surely there's enough room here for the two of you to keep away from each other."

"Oh, I agree," Lady Sarah smiled. "And since I would like to stand here, closer to the musicians, this one can go off somewhere else," she sneered, nodding her head in Mary's direction.

Mary sighed in exasperation.

"I need to go speak to Mama," Ellen said. "I trust the two of you will behave yourselves."

"Of course we will, darling. Mary was just leaving," Sarah smiled.

Ellen looked at Mary imploringly and turned and left.

Mary frowned at Sarah, then composed herself and turned away.

"Please tell your dear husband that I send him my regards. Actually, on second thought, I'll tell him myself. I'm sure that he and I can spend time getting better acquainted the next time you go back to Downton," Sarah called after her.

Mary stopped and slowly turned back around. She stepped back to Lady Sarah and held her gaze.

"Matthew wants nothing to do with you. Did he not make that clear when he rejected your pathetic and desperate marriage proposal? I would have thought you would want to steer clear of my husband, Sarah. Seeing him can only remind you of how you threw yourself at him like some cheap tart and he still refused you."

Sarah's eyes narrowed as she leaned towards Mary, her voice cold and low.

"You're one to talk," she growled. "I can only imagine what tricks you pulled to catch him in your snare. Did you give him the full Turkish delight before or after your wedding?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Mary retorted immediately. "I can assure you that I satisfy him far more than you ever could, and it must pain you inside to know that I'll be Countess of Grantham one day. All of the times you spread your legs for Patrick and nothing at all to show for it. A pity."

Sarah's mouth dropped open in shock. She recovered and glared fiercely at Mary.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah said evenly. "It was you who broke poor Patrick's heart, let's not forget. The dear was inconsolable when he found out what a slut he was engaged to, and to carry on your sordid escapades under the same roof while your fiancé slept, Mary. Well, I suppose some people have no scruples."

"The night of the Hunt years ago, Patrick was hardly asleep," Mary shot back. "Though it's not surprising that going to your bed didn't sate him at all."

Sarah gasped.

"Don't play innocent with me. Patrick had you at Downton the night of the Hunt. Deny it all you like but we both know it's true," Mary said, arching her eyebrow in challenge.

"Where on Earth did you get such nonsense?" Sarah asked. "Your time in Manchester apparently drove you mad."

"Patrick told me," Mary said firmly. "Oh, I'm sorry, was I not supposed to know?"

Sarah swallowed nervously, finding no sign of uncertainty in Mary's eyes.

"Let me see, how did he put it?" Mary wondered aloud. "Ah yes, you called him a bastard when he first made his advances, but soon after you were dropping your drawers whenever he snapped his fingers. You thought that he'd throw me over and you would be Countess, didn't you? How terribly naïve."

Sarah raged silently at Mary's cold smile.

"Allow me to tell you something that's painfully obvious, Sarah, dear," Mary whispered. "A dozen times with you is nothing compared to the mere thought of one night with me. Patrick knew it then and Matthew knows it now. Go on and keep making all the snide jokes about me to your stupid friends that you like, but deep down, we both know the only reason you hate me so is because you…aren't…me."

Sarah let out a harsh breath through her teeth, her lips curling into a snarl.

"Lady Sarah," Matthew called, coming to Mary's side. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Matthew," Sarah said, throwing a smile on quickly.

"Darling," Matthew said to Mary. "I want you to come speak to Viscount Simon."

"Of course, darling," Mary grinned widely at Sarah as she placed her hand on Matthew's offered arm. "That sounds lovely."

"Lady Sarah," Matthew nodded, turning and guiding Mary back across the floor.

"You didn't need to come to my rescue, you know," Mary whispered as they left Sarah behind. "I was rather enjoying myself with her."

"I know you were," Matthew smiled back. "I came over to save her from you. It was hardly a fair fight."

Mary laughed and squeezed his arm. She smiled as they rejoined Viscount Simon and he kissed her hand in greeting.

"Lady Mary, a pleasure, as always," John said. "How are you finding this evening?"

"Wonderful, Viscount Simon," Mary nodded. She turned to Matthew and grinned. "Absolutely wonderful."

* * *

><p><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, February 1918<strong>

* * *

><p>"You can kiss me, but that's it," Mary said, pushing back against Matthew's chest as his lips pulled away from hers.<p>

"What?" Matthew exclaimed in surprise. "But why? It's Valentines!"

"Yes, I know, darling," Mary nodded. "And the flowers were beautiful and the dinner was lovely. But you'll have to control yourself for now."

"But…are you tired? Is it because you're…having your courses? I don't care about any of that, darling," Matthew stammered, moving towards her again.

"No, it's none of that," Mary smiled, shaking her head. "You're quite cute when you're desperate, you know."

"Mary, please," Matthew rolled his eyes, running his hand through his hair nervously. "Is it something I've done? If it was because of the other night, I told you how sorry I was. I didn't think that the scarves would leave a mark!"

"No, no, it's not because of that at all," Mary blushed fiercely at the memory. Anna had given her a confused look when she said she needed to wear her long gloves throughout the day. "I just need you to stop and listen to me for a moment."

"Oh," Matthew said, blinking several times. "All right. What did you want to talk about? Something to do with George?"

"No," Mary smiled.

"Is it about Robert? I thought the two of you were getting along?" Matthew asked.

"We're managing a bit better," Mary nodded. "There still comes a point in our conversations where one of us needs to leave the room before we say something we'll regret, but it hasn't been as horrid as before, that's true."

"Then what? Darling, I can't guess all night long," Matthew shook his head. "Well, I suppose I could, but that would be rather a waste of time, particularly given that I would like to move on to..."

"I'm pregnant, Matthew," Mary said, touching his arm to stop his babbling.

"You're what?" Matthew blurted out, his eyes widening in shock. "Honestly?"

"Well, I wouldn't make something like this up!" Mary frowned in disbelief. "Yes, honestly, Matthew! I'm with child. Your child. Your second child."

"Our second child," Matthew said reverently. "Oh, Mary!"

She laughed as he pushed her back on to the bed and covered her with kisses. He pecked at her lips, her nose, her forehead, her cheeks, her neck and anywhere else he could reach.

"You are absolutely incredible," he said between kisses. Mary hugged him closer, laughing all the while.

"Never did I imagine in my youth that a boring middle class lawyer could be so virile," Mary chuckled.

Matthew laughed along with her, touching her cheek and kissing her firmly.

"Now that you've shared your most wonderful news," Matthew said huskily, his hands running down her sides. "Do I still need to control myself?"

"No," Mary breathed, her hands unbuttoning shirt. "You may ravish me to your heart's content."

"Good," he said thickly, kissing her hard as he grabbed the hem of her nightgown. "This will take a rather long while."


	36. Chapter 36

_**Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1918**_

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you allowed me to oversleep!" Matthew growled as he checked his reflection in the mirror once again. He had just dismissed Bates and was now turning his head left and right to make sure he had combed his hair sufficiently.<p>

"Allowed you?" Mary said incredulously, stretching her arms above her head. "You give me far too much credit."

"Oh, I don't think so," Matthew retorted. "You like seeing me frazzled and scampering around like a fish out of water."

"How did you expect me to wake you when I was also asleep?" Mary arched her eyebrow at him. "Perhaps if we hadn't fallen asleep so late last night, you would have easily roused yourself at your usual time?"

"And who is to blame for our lack of sleep last night?" Matthew asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Who couldn't keep his hands to himself in the car ride home last night, or after we retired to bed?" Mary shot back. "I suppose you're now going to accuse me of tearing my own brassiere?"

Matthew blushed and smiled sheepishly. "No, that was me."

"Precisely," Mary smirked. "Allowed you to oversleep…my word…" she huffed.

"Well, who insisted on going a second time?" Matthew smiled, walking towards the bed.

"You did!" Mary exclaimed, smiling as he approached.

"And who pressed her naked body against me while feigning going to sleep afterward?" Matthew said, leaning over and kissing her neck.

"We always sleep like that! Matthew! You're going to be late!" Mary laughed, wrapping her bare arms across his shoulders.

"I don't recall your hand resting in that particular area when we sleep," Matthew said, pushing the blankets down away from her breasts.

"You moved my hand there!" Mary shrieked in delight as he fondled her breast. "Go to work! I won't be held responsible for what happens from this point on if you stay!" she laughed again.

"If I'm going to be late this morning, I may as well make it worth it," Matthew drawled as he turned her on to her side and kissed the nape of her neck.

"Go!" Mary laughed, turning back and pushing him away. "It won't do for you to wander into the office looking like you've had an early morning romp! You're still the heir to the Earl of Grantham and there are standards, you know!"

"Merciless!" Matthew snarled. "You expect me to go to work with you looking like that?"

Mary smiled as she pulled the blankets back over her chest. "I don't know what you're referring to. I'm simply lying in bed is all."

Matthew rolled his eyes and leaned over, kissing her quickly.

"I'm coming home for luncheon, you know," he said, looking at her with narrow eyes.

"Until then, darling," Mary smiled, patting his cheek affectionately. "Oh, could you please send Anna up with my tray? Thank you."

Matthew grunted petulantly, then turned and left the bedroom. Mary rubbed her belly and smiled, lying back on the pillows.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, March 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"It's official. The Russians signed the treaty," Reverend Montgomery said as he came into the office.<p>

"The Bolsheviks signed, you mean," Matthew grumbled, flipping the page on the coded message he was working on. "And for a much worse deal, from what I understand."

Nigel glanced up from his desk and smiled.

"Why, Matthew, you don't think that giving up most of a nation's coal and a number of its territories is a sound plan for peace?" he joked.

"I believe that one should not agree to anything simply to escape from a war that continues to rage on," Matthew replied. "The Russians have put us in a very tenuous position. We'll need to defend France with far fewer forces now."

"That's been the case since they pulled out in December, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery smiled. "Don't be so quick to award victory to the Germans."

"I'm not," Matthew shook his head. "I just fear that this treaty only benefits the Germans and no one else. It certainly doesn't help us."

"Well it doesn't help the Russians, that's for certain," Nigel added.

"I agree," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "But don't think it's a boon to Germany just yet."

"Why not?" Matthew frowned. "They remove one of their enemies, gain new territories, resources, even liberate the German populations of the former Russian provinces. It seems a windfall to me."

"Does it?" Reverend Montgomery smiled. He glanced over at Nigel, then back to Matthew. "And who do you think will occupy these new territories for the Germans, Matthew?"

"They'll send officials to form the new governments and probably some soldiers to oversee the transition, I expect," Matthew shrugged.

"Precisely," Reverend Montgomery smiled. He walked over to the wall where a large map was displayed.

"Poland, Ukraine, Livonia, Estonia," Reverend Montgomery said, tracing his finger along the territories to be ceded by Russia under the terms of the treaty. "They need to cover a line all the way to the Caspian Sea. Where will they get the men for that?"

"From the Eastern Front," Matthew replied.

"Exactly," Reverend Montgomery smiled. "And that leaves them rather undermanned on the Western Front in France, doesn't it?"

Matthew blinked in surprise.

"The problem with conquering new lands is that the conquered populations generally don't take very well to being conquered," Nigel smiled.

"If the Russians had all manner of problems trying to keep these same territories in line for decades, then how successful do you think the Germans will be at doing it, Matthew?" Reverend Montgomery said, coming over and standing near his desk. "There will be demonstrations, protests, then riots and perhaps even uprisings. The Germans may have removed the Russians as an enemy, but I dare say they've unwittingly taken on a much bigger challenge."

"With the Americans on our side, losing the Russians is less damaging, so long as we can press our advantage," Nigel said.

"It's a race," Matthew muttered. "Between our ability to deploy the full power of the Americans against their ability to placate their new territories and consolidate all their forces freed up from fighting Russia."

"That's right," Reverend Montgomery declared. "We should expect a major operation very soon. They have to move against us. The longer they wait, the more time it gives us to organize our forces. They know they can't stand against us once the United States brings their full might to bear. Which means we need to give the forces something they can use. Back to work, gentlemen."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, March 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Thank you for coming to meet with me, Mr. Thompson," Mary smiled. "I would rather have come to your office, but I'm afraid that in my present condition, I don't have the same energy."<p>

"I'm always pleased to pay a call to Grantham House," the government official nodded. "And congratulations, Lady Mary. I expect that Lord Grantham and your husband are overjoyed at the news."

"Thank you," Mary nodded. "Yes, it's something to look forward to, and to distract us from all this talk of the Germans and their new attack."

"Indeed, indeed," Mr. Thompson nodded. "Now, I believe that our contract is up for renewal. I sent a new draft to Mr. Crawley two weeks ago. Do you know if he had a chance to look it over?"

"He did," Mary nodded. She turned and called out to Bates. "Bates, you have the contract that Mr. Crawley was reviewing, don't you?"

"Yes, my Lady," Bates nodded. He came forward and handed the document to Mr. Thompson.

The official glanced over the pages, then frowned.

"I'm sorry, Lady Mary, but we simply don't have the resources to agree to the price increase that your husband suggests here. Perhaps I should make an appointment to speak to him?"

"Oh, we discussed it already," Mary said lightly, sipping her tea. "He's perfectly fine with me concluding this business, I assure you."

"Well, then you'll appreciate that as much as I appreciate your family's contributions, we need to be quite strict about these things. In times of war, everyone must make sacrifices, you understand," Mr. Thompson said carefully.

"We do understand that quite well, Mr. Thompson," Mary replied. "As you are well aware, Downton is one of the larger producers of grain in Yorkshire. We converted numerous fields and pastures years ago when demand rose at the beginning of the War, and we have continued to supply at prices far below what we were accustomed to, all in the name of patriotism."

"And so you should be commended, Lady Mary, of course," Mr. Thompson said. "I'm not saying it's fair, but we can't be thinking about profit at times like these."

"No, of course not," Mary shook her head.

"Good," Mr. Thompson nodded. "Well, if Mr. Crawley has given you authority to act on his behalf, then I'll just note that we are using the old prices and we can take this contract as being final."

"And you're quite certain that we are being paid the same prices as other farmers across Yorkshire, and indeed across England?" Mary asked.

"Oh, I'm sure that you are, Lady Mary, yes," Mr. Thompson nodded.

"Funny," Mary said, arching her eyebrow. "I must be mistaken. You see, the other day I had a very curious conversation with the wife of Sir Anthony Strallan. It appears that their family has been paid a price for their grain that is nearly ten percent higher than the prices in our contract. But I must have misheard her, because during times of war, everyone's sacrifice is value and everyone is treated equally, aren't they?"

Mr. Thompson swallowed nervously. "Sir Anthony Strallan, you say?"

"Yes," Mary smiled. "His wife is Lady Edith. Lady Edith, my sister," Mary said pointedly.

Mr. Thompson's mouth fell open in shock before he quickly closed it and busied himself with sipping his tea.

"My husband took the liberty of adjusting the prices in that contract to reflect what is already being paid to other farmers in Yorkshire," Mary continued, pressing her leverage. "Perhaps it would be a wise idea for you to initial your agreement on his changes and sign the contract? That way, we can be certain that all is fair and that no one is taking advantage of the war for their own profit."

Mr. Thompson blinked.

"That would be…a wise idea, yes," he recovered. "I'll look into those prices right away and ensure all is equitable, Lady Mary."

Mr. Thompson signed the contract and handed a copy back to Bates.

"Excellent," Mary smiled. "Well, I need to be going. I'm going to take a walk through the park with my son. Bates will see you out. Good day, Mr. Thompson."

Mr. Thompson rose from his seat and watched as Mary walked briskly from the room. Watching her back, there was no sign in either her shape or her stride that she was with child at all.

"Right this way, sir," Bates said, motioning for Mr. Thompson to head to the foyer. The valet glanced across the room and winked at Anna before she left to follow her Mistress.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, April 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Over a million shells on the first day alone," Matthew shook his head, leaning back in his chair and looking over at the map.<p>

The office was essentially empty; only Matthew and Reverend Montgomery having made it in so far. They were receiving reports and messages on the German attack on the Western Front and the numbers were staggering.

Reverend Montgomery sipped his tea before speaking.

"Over 250,000 casualties, to say nothing for the artillery and tanks lost," he said. "But we held Amiens and Arras, so the defence was a success, as laughable as that sounds."

Matthew looked at the map, frowning as he saw the territory where the main push by the Germans had broken through.

"I know it's cold, but we can replace those numbers," Reverend Montgomery said. "Most importantly, the Germans know we can replace them. The American forces aren't entirely in place yet. We have new artillery and tanks being manufactured constantly. The real question is whether the Germans can replace the casualties on their side. Where will their reinforcements come from? They already pushed their soldiers from the Eastern Front."

"So they're ill prepared for a counter attack," Matthew nodded.

"Let's hope they aren't," Reverend Montgomery said.

"The land they won from us was the main battleground around the Somme," Matthew said. "It's been shelled beyond recognition. Without Amiens and Arrras, they've won no advantage."

"How we respond to these smaller offensives will be crucial," Reverend Montgomery said. "We've repelled their largest attack so far. So long as we hold the flank and do not give up any significant ground, it will take them months to regroup."

"But now we wait," Matthew said in frustration.

Reverend Montgomery nodded, "_Romans 5:4, and patience, experience; and experience, hope."_

The two men sat in silence for a moment until Matthew stood and went to pour himself a mug of tea.

"Nigel said he gave you that message that came in last night?" Reverend Montgomery asked.

"I looked at it briefly," Matthew said. "I should have it done by tomorrow I expect."

"Good," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "Get me some good news, Matthew. We could use some."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew sat with George on the floor of the nursery. Numerous wooden blocks were strewn about as they went about the task of constructing a castle. His son held a wooden horse in his chubby little hand occasionally waving it about. The little boy was wide awake despite the late hour. When Matthew had returned from work and checked on his son in the nursery, he had found Nanny struggling to put the child to sleep. Matthew sent her downstairs to have her dinner, assuring her that he would watch the child until she came back up. It was a daily struggle between them and Nanny was far more patient with Matthew than his own mother or even Cousin Violet surely would have been. He was constantly trying to pull George away from her, despite being lectured often by Mary that the boy needed to adhere to a schedule, and that Nanny's job was to keep him in line.<p>

"Pa-pa," George said enthusiastically as he dropped the wooden horse and crawled in his pyjamas towards another basket of toys. However, once he reached these objects, he lost interest. George pulled himself to his feet and waddled back towards his father.

"Pa-pa," George said again as he crashed into his father.

Matthew smiled and arranged the child to sit comfortably in his lap. It seemed that Mary had a new discovery to show him each time that he came home now. George's first word had been 'apple' or so they thought. He had learned to pull himself up months ago, and was walking relatively well in the past weeks. He still seemed to be a risk to topple over at any moment, but he could manage over short distances and Matthew marvelled at that. His young chap was becoming an actual person now who could do things, and the simple actions he was now able to accomplish on his own thrilled Matthew to no end.

"Watch," Matthew instructed as he pushed the blocks, and they all toppled over.

George clapped as he smiled at the destruction. Matthew gathered his son into his arms and moved to the rocking chair.

"How about a story, young man?" He asked his son, to which George simply babbled, eventually grinning widely.

"The first thing I remember my father reading me was _The Owl and the Pussycat_, so let's try that," Matthew smiled.

George squirmed in his lap until he had his head on the fabric of his shirt, rather than his suit jacket. Matthew smiled as his son reached up to grab the knot in his loose tie. George always found that article of clothing fascinating for some reason. Matthew held the storybook for George to stare at the pictures. Soon he felt his son drift off to sleep, but Matthew didn't move, continuing to rock gently back and forth as he held him against his chest.

"Wake up, darling," Mary whispered in his ear.

Matthew blinked several times, adjusting to the darkness of the room. He glanced about. George was asleep in his crib. Matthew looked at Mary in confusion.

"We put him down about fifteen minutes ago," she smiled. "Nanny found you both asleep and so she took George to his crib and I told her to let you keep sleeping."

"You should have woken me," Matthew yawned. He smiled lazily at his wife, the moonlight from the window casting a silver glow across her skin.

"I found three of George's socks in your jacket pocket," Mary teased him. "You're worse than Dr. Crawley."

Matthew couldn't help but chuckle ruefully at her statement.

"Nanny caught me last week," Matthew admitted.

Mary rolled her eyes but smiled affectionately.

"Come to bed," she said simply as she took his hand. "You're lucky that we ate earlier, otherwise I suspect you would have slept through dinner."

Matthew squeezed her hand. He took one last look at George before following his wife down the hall to their bedroom.

* * *

><p>Matthew stretched his arms as he went through to his dressing room. He had stayed at work a bit longer continuing to work on the coded message that Nigel passed to him yesterday, but he wasn't feeling overworked. Perhaps it was just the weight of everything building up over time that had finally caught up to him. He peeled off his suit jacket as Bates arrived to attend to him.<p>

"Bates, Lady Mary informs me that your divorce is now final. Congratulations," Matthew nodded as the valet helped him change into his pyjamas and robe.

"Thank you, sir," Bates said. "It's nice to know that I can move on with my life now."

"And so you should," Matthew nodded. "For what it's worth Bates, I hope that I don't need to tell you that War has a way of putting things in their proper perspective. You may have plans, you may have ideas on how the next week, the next month, the next year of your life will go, what you expect to happen in the decades to come. But all you know is that we have right now, and perhaps tomorrow, and no one can say more than that."

They both heard laughter coming from the bedroom and they both turned their heads and smiled. It wasn't only Mary who laughed.

"Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone, Bates," Matthew smiled.

"Did your father tell you that one, sir?" Bates asked.

"He did," Matthew nodded. "Although he stole it from Picasso, actually."

"I don't know, sir. Where would we live?" Bates asked.

"I think we could find a room here for a married couple, Bates," Matthew nodded. "And when we move back to Downton, you can have one of the refurbished cottages. I'm sure Robert wouldn't object."

"But she's so young, sir," Bates shrugged. "Could you see her taking care of me and this for the rest of her life?" He pointed to his injured leg.

"As flattered as I am by the gesture, Bates, I don't think that it is particularly relevant what type of woman I envision for you," Matthew smiled. "I have a suspicion that Anna could very easily see herself taking care of you for a very long time, indeed. More importantly, do you see yourself with her?"

"Even in my dreams, sir," Bates said quietly.

"Good. Then I will expect you to do the proper thing, Bates, and soon," Matthew declared.

"Yes, sir," Bates nodded.

Matthew wished his valet goodnight and went into the bedroom.

* * *

><p>"Ah, there you are," Mary smiled, glancing over at him from the full length mirror. "We were beginning to think that you and Bates had snuck downstairs for a drink."<p>

"And I was wondering what scheme the two of you were up to," Matthew answered. "We both heard you two giggling like schoolgirls."

Anna smiled and covered her mouth.

"We were hardly giggling, Matthew," Mary said haughtily. "Goodnight, Anna. We'll discuss some more in the morning."

"Yes, Milady. Goodnight, sir," Anna curtsied, then left.

"What were you doing in there? It doesn't take you that long to get ready for bed," Mary smiled, sliding underneath the bedcovers.

"I was encouraging Bates with thoughts of marriage," Matthew smiled, joining her in bed.

"Goodness, he's been divorced for less than a week and he already has a new suitor!" Mary teased.

"Funny," Matthew rolled his eyes. "How do you know about such things?"

"I'm married. I know everything," Mary smiled. "My husband has corrupted me with all manner of wicked middle class ideas and thoughts."

"Is that so?" Matthew laughed, sliding his arm over and allowing her to lie against his chest. "Well hopefully Bates will be corrupting Anna very soon."

"Matthew! That's vulgar," Mary scolded him. "But hopefully Bates is inspired to act soon, yes. Anna's quite looking forward to it."

"It's so interesting to see what makes people happy, isn't it?" Matthew smiled. "I mentioned that we could perhaps find a cottage for them to live in back at Downton and Bates was stunned at such a possibility. Having a small place to call their own, regardless of the condition it's in, was more than he could have hoped for."

"What are you saying?" Mary asked, turning her head and looking at him. "I was entirely prepared to live with you in a modest house in Manchester. I still would, just say the word."

"And why would you want to do that?" Matthew laughed.

"To prove to you why Downton doesn't matter," Mary said. "To show you that we can take it or leave it. What's important is my husband and my son. As long as I have the two of you, I don't need anything else."

"Thank you, darling, but life as the heir is not entirely objectionable, truly," Matthew smiled.

"Ah, getting rather used to having servants and dining in splendour, are you?" Mary raised her eyebrows at him. "You've been seduced by this way of life. I knew it."

"The only thing that I've been seduced by is the woman lying next to me," Matthew said, turning her on to her back and kissing her softly. He continued to kiss her as he spoke. "My wife…the mother of my son…the mother of my second child…"

"Mmm…go on," Mary laughed, kissing him back.

"The woman who fleeced the government out of paying us more for our grain, and who's first group of pigs sold for a tidy profit," Matthew said.

"I didn't fleece anyone," Mary said defensively, smiling and closing her eyes as he kissed her neck. "I merely was pointing out certain inconsistencies."

"So you must admit now that Edith marrying Sir Anthony was quite fortunate for us," Matthew said.

"I suppose," Mary sighed. "Thank God I remembered to ask her about Sir Anthony's contract. It never occurred to me that anyone would be paid more than us."

"It was rather devious on their part," Matthew said. "But at least you corrected it."

"I've got a new name suggestion for if we have a daughter," Mary said, smiling at him.

Matthew drew back and nodded. He ran his hand down the blankets and touched her stomach.

"You know that you can't use Reginald or Isobel or any derivation of either," Matthew said, rubbing her lightly. "And frankly, favouring my side of the family for both of our children will not sit well with your parents."

"Neither of them are getting a claim to my children," Mary huffed. "I'd name my daughter after Granny and my next son after Carson before I would consider Mama or Papa."

Matthew laughed. "Don't hold a grudge. It only causes you annoyance and I forbid it. Just be as nice as you are."

Mary smirked at him, but remained silent. Only he thought she was nice.

"I was thinking of the name 'Stella' for a girl," Mary said.

"For star," Matthew said, mulling it over. "I am intrigued. We could say she was our guiding light."

"Just as your father lies in the Heavens above," Mary smiled.

"Stella Crawley," Matthew said. "I like it."

"Good," Mary said smugly. "We'll keep it in mind, then."

"I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for our child," Matthew said, turning and kissing her. "Lately it seems that all I deal with at work is death – dead soldiers, news about attacks and strategies and army movements. To know that my son is healthy and that I have another child coming in several months…God, Mary…you…you can't know how happy you've made me."

Mary closed her eyes and shook her head. She blinked several times to stop herself from crying. She pulled him closer and kissed him firmly.

"I think I have some idea," she whispered, kissing him again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, April 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"This can't be right though, can it?" Matthew asked, staring at the page. "It makes no sense."<p>

"The message says what it says," Nigel nodded. "Whether it seems right or not to you or I is unimportant."

"Are we sure?" Reverend Montgomery asked.

"I think Matthew's got it decoded properly," Nigel replied. "It all checks out to me."

"Ammunition and supplies low. Distance from railway stops too far," Matthew read. "The rest is a listing of the divisions involved in the attacks. But given how much land they've claimed, how can their supplies be low?"

"The attacking forces carry enough supplies for only a few days," Reverend Montgomery said, looking at the map. "To hold the area, particularly against counterattacks, requires a reliable supply chain. Without it, they'll be forced to withdraw."

"Their initial strike is devastating, due to their artillery," Nigel said. "But it's holding the territory that then becomes an issue. Also, they still haven't taken any of the major strategic points – railway stations and towns. They've driven us back a fair distance, but it's over land that we could afford to give up."

"I'll speak to Blinker," Reverend Montgomery said. "This may be worth relaying on. If we know they only have quick strike capability, we can identify points to stiffen our defence, give up some ground but ultimately force them to pull back when their supplies run out."

"It all seems so complicated," Matthew muttered, watching as Reverend Montgomery left the office.

"It's a war of attrition now, Matthew. Which side can hold out the longest," Nigel said. "I think we may be seeing signs that the Germans are running out of time."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Queen Alexandra's Royal Nursing Corps, Mayfair, London, England, April 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You've definitely got me beat," Sybil said as she admired the blanket Mary had donated as part of the items for the silent auction at the charity fundraiser. "You're better at nursing and sewing."<p>

"Hardly," Mary scoffed. "You're the nurse in the family, darling. You're the one who's been properly trained. I just fell into it, literally."

Sybil smiled and squeezed her sister's hand affectionately.

"You remember that I never had very much patience for needlework before. But, I had a lot of free time in Manchester and crochet filled it in the beginning, as I thought I was destined to be a spinster," Mary shrugged.

"And what about when you began seeing Matthew?" Sybil asked.

"I still kept up with it," Mary blushed. "Isobel taught me how to do certain stitches and patterns. Anything was preferable to sitting at Lady Philomena's in the attic by myself."

"I still can't imagine what you went through," Sybil shook her head. "It must have been horrible for you."

"Actually, it wasn't," Mary smiled. "It was pleasant actually, to sit in Matthew's home. We spent time in the parlour after dinner. Isobel and I would crochet and Matthew would read the newspaper or a book and Dr. Crawley would read _Bird Notes and News_ or something similar. We would talk, all four of us, about whatever topic came to mind. It was such…fun. Everyone's opinion mattered, and everyone wanted to genuinely know what each other thought. It was liberating to not only be allowed to speak my mind but encouraged to do so."

"That must have led to numerous arguments between you and Matthew," Sybil smiled.

"It did," Mary nodded. "We would sometimes keep at it even after his parents retired and went up to bed."

"But never with any malice," Sybil nodded.

"Never," Mary smiled. "It's never about who's right or wrong with Matthew. He's more about why a person thinks what they do than trying to convince them otherwise."

"That must be maddening for you," Sybil joked.

"Not really," Mary arched her eyebrow. "I still know how to get under his skin."

They walked along admiring the donated items in silence as the crowds started to appear. Mary put bids down on several items, some that would be nice for the nursery and others that she believed suited her husband.

"What is this?" Sybil asked with curiosity, examining a hat.

"It's a cloche hat," Mary said with interest. "This one's shorter and more snug than most. I think it's designed for the shorter hairstyles."

"What shorter hairstyles?" Sybil frowned.

"They're all the rage in Paris," Mary smiled. "Lady Diana Manners has kept her hair in a bob since she was a child."

"I hope you won't try that," Matthew said, appearing from the crowd suddenly to rejoin them.

"I might," Mary smiled at him.

"I'm not sure how feminine it is," Sybil frowned, staring at the cloche hat.

"I'm not sure how feminine I am," Mary remarked.

"Very, I'm glad to say," Matthew said, turning away from the cloche hat and looking at her intently.

Mary blushed and looked back at him, holding his gaze.

"Would the two of you like me to leave and meet you back at home later?" Sybil asked.

Matthew smirked and looked away.

"Not at all, darling," Mary smiled, taking her sister's arm. "Let's keep going. I'm sure there's an item or two here that you'll love."

Matthew watched them walk away, then looked back at the cloche hat, considering it and repeating Mary's words in his mind. He glanced over at his wife once more before surreptitiously writing down a bid on the hat. Smiling to himself, he quickly followed to catch up to Mary and Sybil.

"How long will you stay, Sybil?" Matthew asked.

"Just through tomorrow night," Sybil replied. "Mama insisted that I take some time off, and Cousin Isobel supported her. I'm anxious to return though."

"Perhaps we'll come back with you," Matthew said. "We're due for a visit."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" Sybil smiled. "Everyone misses George, you know."

"I suppose we could spare a few days," Mary said, smiling at her husband. "But just through the weekend. I can only stand so many helpful suggestions."

"Wonderful!" Sybil exclaimed. "I'll call Mama and tell her tonight."


	37. Chapter 37

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1918**_

* * *

><p>"Down-ton," Matthew said, pointing out the window as he balanced George on his lap. "Down-ton."<p>

George gurgled and waved his little hand as he followed his father's gaze. Sybil grinned at Mary.

"They're just adorable together, aren't they?" Sybil said.

"Don't encourage him," Mary frowned. "He's been carrying George since we got on the train. At this rate, Nanny can help out in the kitchens during our stay, since she's barely been given a chance to do her actual job."

Matthew continued to play with his son. His wife's barb was said deliberately loud enough for him to hear, but he deliberately ignored it. Nanny exchanged a knowing glance with Branson in the front seat.

Once they reached the front of the house, Matthew bounded out the door, leaving Branson to assist the women. He placed George down on the ground and gingerly walked next to him as the boy found his balance and waddled his way towards the entrance.

Robert and Cora smiled as they watched the toddler approach. With the surprisingly balmy Spring sun shining down on his blond hair and his rather snappy sailor outfit, George was the picture of innocence. Robert in particular found the sight of him endearing, having just arrived from Sandhurst himself, where all he saw were constant reminders of War.

"What a fine little chap you are!" Robert beamed at George. The Earl's smile was wide and his voice slightly booming due to his excitement.

"His blond hair is just enchanting," Cora exclaimed as she grinned in appreciation. "Come, let's go in."

George smiled and turned his head away shyly, burrowing his face in Matthew's leg.

"All right, come on now, George," Matthew smiled, picking up George again. He rubbed the child's back soothingly.

"Darling," he coaxed, "It's alright. This is your Granny Cora and your Grandpapa Robert. They're Mama's parents, remember?"

George nuzzled Matthew's neck and shoulder, his blue eyes looking over at Robert and Cora.

"He's had a long trip," Mary said as she arrived at Matthew's side. She reached out her gloved hand and George immediately grabbed it and squealed happily, smiling at Mary. "He's probably feeling overwhelmed with all the different names that Matthew has been inundating him with since we left King's Cross."

"Well," Robert chuckled. "He clearly takes after you, Matthew. Mary was never shy like this."

Cora could see the unimpressed reaction on her daughter's face and quickly tried to change the subject.

"It is wonderful you could come back with Sybil," Cora said, reaching out and taking Mary's hands in hers. "There's a fair in the Village that you are bound to enjoy."

"Thank you, Mama," Mary said. "It's been years since I've been to the fair, actually. Did Anna make it back all right?"

"She and Bates arrived hours ago," Cora nodded. "Sybil, my darling, did you enjoy yourself in London?"

"Mary was a perfect hostess," Sybil smiled. "But I am eager to get back to work."

"Tomorrow, Sybil," Robert said firmly as they walked inside. "Your Mama and Cousin Isobel didn't schedule you in for the rest of the day. Well, you all should wash off the train. We'll see all of you at dinner this evening."

"Very good," Matthew said, and made his way upstairs, carrying George in his arms. The boy glanced around in wonder, looking at the portraits and paintings and banners that adorned the walls.

Matthew turned at the landing and continued up the rest of the stairs. He noticed that Mary had lingered back with Sybil. He went up to their bedroom, stopping every so often so George could look down from the gallery.

"Matthew, give him over to Nanny," Mary ordered. "He's overdue for his nap, thanks to you not allowing him to sleep on the train."

Matthew kissed George on the cheek and reluctantly passed him to Nanny. The woman smiled and carried George to the nursery. Matthew watched them go, then followed Mary into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"I'm bathing first," Mary declared, pulling the cord. She removed her gloves and sat down at her vanity.

"Can't we bathe together?" Matthew smiled, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

"No, we can't," Mary retorted. "Stop that."

She swatted his hands away and removed the pins from her hair to take off her hat.

"What have I done wrong now?" Matthew smiled, raising his eyebrows at their reflection in the mirror.

"What makes you think you've done anything wrong?" Mary asked lightly, not meeting his gaze.

"You've been cross with me since we arrived at the train station," Matthew said. "And you always deny me your body when you want to punish me."

"No, I do not!" Mary said bitterly. "Do not accuse me of withholding sex to get my way, Matthew. That's entirely improper, and the trait of a very petty woman, which I am not."

"Darling, please," Matthew said, holding up his hands. "You're clearly irritated about something and I want to know what it is. I can't apologize for my behaviour, or properly defend myself if you don't let me know what I've done wrong."

Mary turned and glared at him. She opened her mouth when there was a knock at the door.

"Milady. Sir. Welcome back," Anna said cheerfully as she came into the bedroom. Bates followed with Mary's luggage.

"Anna, a hot bath please," Mary said, standing up and walking away from Matthew.

"Yes, Milady. Right away," Anna nodded. She waited for Bates to place Mary's cases in her dressing room and left with the valet.

"Matthew," Mary said with a sigh, turning back to him. "You really need to be more mindful of the rules of etiquette, particularly when we're here."

"This is about me carrying my own son, isn't it?" Matthew laughed.

"George must be raised a gentleman. He needs to understand his station in life and your coddling undermines nanny's authority," Mary said, slightly piqued that her husband did not seem disturbed by her mood. "If George needs to be carried while we travel, which is rare in any event, she'll be the one to do it, not you. It just isn't how we do things."

"He's still learning how to walk," Matthew replied. "And I don't trust him to stay with Nanny on a busy train platform, is all."

"It's her job to keep track of him, Matthew," Mary scoffed. "If you think that a grown woman doesn't have the strength to keep George under control, then we're either dealing with a very strong baby or a very frail Nanny."

"Fine, I will admit that I enjoy holding my son," Matthew shrugged. "Mary, you spend all day with him. I barely get a few hours. Is it surprising that I want to coddle him a little on the weekends?"

"I tolerate your behaviour in London because it's just the two of us," Mary said. "But here, everything must be done properly. Everything that you do is a testimonial to my ability as a mother, and I don't want to give Papa any extra ammunition against me."

"Just explain that I'm only doing what my father did with me at the same age," Matthew said. "Simple enough?"

"No, it's not," Mary rolled her eyes. "And by the way, do not think that you can simply conjure your father's name and that will absolve you of anything you've done. I want my son to behave as a properly raised young boy, and not some rambunctious creature who runs to his Papa for comfort."

"All right," Matthew sighed. "I will allow Nanny to do her job. But I still intend to play with him before dinner and take him to the fair."

"Please do," Mary nodded. "Just try and control yourself whenever Mama or Papa is around us, so I am not accused of ruining the future Earl of Grantham. Heaven forbid that we should have a daughter. Then I'll truly be a disappointment."

"Now wait a minute," Matthew said, stepping towards her. He took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "Having a girl will never be seen as anything other than the blessing that it is. Mother would love it, and so would I."

Mary smiled and nodded.

"Now, about that bath…" Matthew said, raising his eyebrows at her.

"All right," Mary smiled, rolling her eyes. "But we must actually bathe this time."

"We always bathe…afterward…" Matthew smirked.

Mary rolled her eyes again as she took his hand and led him out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.

* * *

><p>The mood at the dinner table was rather lively as the entire family gathered together. Edith and Sir Anthony had come over from Loxley. The family had gotten used to him wearing his arm in a sling, and the servants compensated by serving him on his other side. Matthew smiled as Mary spoke with her sisters and his mother spoke with the Dowager Countess. It seemed that they were able to live in their own little world, despite there being a large room full of recovering soldiers just a few walls away. Though Matthew sometimes felt the family was a bit too indifferent to the world beyond Yorkshire, in this case, he was glad for the respite.<p>

After the pudding course was cleared, Cora led the ladies through. Mary brushed her hand across his shoulder affectionately as she walked past him. Matthew looked up at her and shared a brief smile. He had done his utmost during their bath to get back on her good side, and he was pleased to see his effort was working. He resumed a composed expression as Robert took his customary cigar and brandy from Carson.

"How are you finding being a father?" Robert asked as he smoked. The man at least was courteous enough to puff away from Matthew's face.

"It's incredible," Matthew said genuinely.

"Yes it is," Robert agreed. "Although you won't understand real parenting until you have a daughter. There's just something about girls, you know. You can't help but worry about them more, truly."

"I hope to have a daughter," Matthew nodded.

"It's not something most men desire," Robert said casually. "But, I do find it rewarding despite the additional taxing of the nerves and pocketbook."

"I can understand that," Matthew said. "Mostly, I just want George to have a sibling. Both my father and I were only children, so I'd like to break that family tradition."

"Well, you shall soon enough," Robert said. "Mary told me that she expects to have several children. Two in three years will be a good start."

"We thought it wise to fill the house with children while their Grandpapa is still spry enough to play with them," Matthew smiled.

Robert chuckled and nodded, looking at his brandy wistfully.

"I think that both of you are making an effort towards each other, and it's working a little bit," Matthew said firmly.

Robert met his gaze and held it for a moment.

"I hope so," he said quietly. "Baby steps, as they say."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dower House, Yorkshire, England, March 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>Mary always enjoyed having tea at Dower House. She still remembered the first time after her grandpapa's death that her granny had invited her to this place that she had never visited before. It had been an inspiration to leave Downton Abbey and yet still feel as though she was at home. To Mary it had been a sanctuary as she grew up, for even though there were hundreds of rooms at Downton Abbey, she always felt she was being watched there, that the weight of expectation was always upon her. Being able to come here, even if it was with her Mama and sisters, was a welcome escape. When she had been banished, the brief hope that she could live here instead had warmed her until Cousin James dashed the idea completely. It never ceased to amaze her how the decisions of others – James banishing her, her parents going along with it, not allowing her to live even at Dower House – had led her to the life she had now.<p>

"Everyone, I have some news," Edith said hesitantly as she looked about the room.

Mary lowered her tea cup. Everyone turned towards Edith and waited, but they were met with only silence.

"This is the part where you tell us your news," Mary said pointedly.

Sybil couldn't help but giggle at this remark, and Cora sighed dramatically as she looked at the floor.

"Yes Edith," Isobel said tactfully. "What is it, dear?"

"Well, I've been to see Dr. Clarkson," she said, although she didn't elaborate any further and merely blushed and smiled.

Cora gasped and set down her teacup with a jolt. The slight crash of the china had Violet turn her gaze, concerned for her dishware.

"Edith," Sybil smiled. "Are you going to make me an aunt again?"

"I am quite happy to say that I will be, yes," Edith nodded.

"Another grandchild," Cora said as she patted her daughter's hand, "What a blessing."

"Congratulations to you and Sir Anthony," Sybil said with affection. "Your child will be the same age as Mary's."

"George and his brother, or sister, will be happy to have a cousin to play with," Mary nodded.

"We are hoping for a girl," Edith said. "Anthony doesn't want a boy after what he has seen during the War. He said…well…he said he'd like a girl who looks like me."

"Heavens, the man has an entire bag full of tricks," Violet smirked.

"I think it an understandable sentiment," Isobel said, looking over at the Dowager Countess.

"Matthew wants a girl too," Mary shrugged, sipping her tea.

"Of course he does," Isobel smiled at her daughter-in-law. "There hasn't been a girl in the Crawley side of our family in generations."

"If only we had known you when Matthew and the girls were children," Cora said nostalgically.

"Imagine that," Sybil shook her head.

"Oh, I don't know," Mary smiled. "I'm quite pleased with how things turned out."

Isobel smiled at her in understanding.

"We'll need to expand the nursery," Cora said enthusiastically. "There's room for both of Mary's children now, but I'd like to be able to fit another crib so that your child can take naps and so on when you visit," she said to Edith.

"That would be lovely, Mama," Edith replied.

"Careful, Sybil," Mary teased. "You'll be recruited to be a nanny once the War is over."

"I'll be the favourite aunt, but that's it," Sybil answered.

"I should hope so," Violet huffed. "If only this unpleasant affair would end so Sybil could find a proper gentlemen to settle down with."

"Oh, Granny," Mary rolled her eyes. "Sybil doesn't need to be concerned about finding a husband so urgently."

"You're one to say," Violet said haughtily. "You found one in rather one of the more unlikely of places."

Mary and Isobel shared a laugh as the chatter turned to hearing all about Edith's plans to renovate the nursery at Loxley House.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>Though Mary wanted to avoid taking a shift in the hospital during her visit, Sybil's constant badgering forced her to reconsider. She was pleased to see that many of the soldiers she tended to back in November had been discharged since, and she was hopeful they were all still alive. She did notice that the current batch of patients were far more subdued, almost reclusive in a way. There was very little talk and banter. They would mumble their thanks when receiving a book or a letter, and follow instructions from Isobel and the others without comment. The severity of their injuries were far worse as well. Many of them weren't merely convalescing. They were at the beginning of what would be a long road to recover some sense of normalcy. She sighed as she put her apron in the hamper to be washed and turned to leave the hospital at the end of her shift.<p>

"Mary," a voice called insistently as she passed the patients. Mary stopped and looked up. She blinked in surprise.

"Evelyn!" she exclaimed, approaching his bedside. "I didn't know you were here."

The Honourable Evelyn Napier looked very different from the last time she had seen him. His appearance was altered. He had cuts all over his face, and his hair had been shaved to accommodate stitches. He smiled bravely as she sat down at his bedside.

"It was rather a mix-up," Evelyn explained. "I did ask to come here as my preference over all the other places, but I was initially denied. I was only later allowed to come here because of my connection to your family and the personal intervention of Lord Grantham."

"Well, whatever the reason, it's good to see you," Mary said as she smiled at him warmly. "I wish someone had told me you were here earlier."

"You're here now," Evelyn nodded. "You're looking very well, Mary. Marriage agrees with you."

"It does," Mary nodded, blushing slightly, as she looked down at her lap, her wedding and betrothal rings displayed proudly on her finger. "We spend most of our time in London. Matthew works at Whitehall."

"Father mentioned it," Evelyn nodded. "I'm glad for you that he's been spared going to the Front. It's no place for anyone, Mary."

Mary frowned at his suddenly vacant expression.

"What's it been like?" she asked softly, touching his hand.

Evelyn turned back and looked at her, some colour returning to his face.

"I actually can't talk about it," he shrugged. "But many of us have no business being there, Mary. We're not soldiers, despite what the government says. We're just noblemen with no particularly special skills, and yet they expect us to lead battalions and take charge. I didn't need any training in the Army in order to command men; all I needed was the upbringing of an aristocrat. Clearly, that was woefully inadequate."

"Evelyn," Mary said cautiously. "You're here now. Just focus on getting better."

"Of course," Evelyn nodded. "Congratulations. Your second, is it?"

Mary touched her stomach lightly. "Yes. We have a son: George. We've been very lucky."

"I must say I am having great difficulty picturing you as a mother," Evelyn chuckled. "Though I am sure you are wonderful at it. I don't always think very clearly when it comes to you."

Mary's eyes widened in shock at his words. She looked at him and saw a dazed expression cross his face. He must have been given his medicine recently, she thought. It was loosening his tongue worse than alcohol.

"I've always regretted not seeking you out when all that…unpleasantness…happened, Mary," Evelyn continued. "I could have protected you. I could have given you a place in London, a life. But I was so scared, so worried about what everyone else would say about us, or how it would reflect on my family. It's rather funny how now I'm in here as a result of what people assumed about my leadership skills. I suppose presumptions can be dangerous for men just as they can be for women."

Mary merely looked back down at her lap, unable to come up with a response to Evelyn's rambling. She always knew he was enamoured with her. That was why she had flirted with him during her Season. He wasn't the most interesting of men, but with his kindness and his title, he was infinitely better than Patrick. As she looked back at him now, in his damaged state, she felt the pang of regret over how casually she had treated him and other suitors all those years ago.

"I like Matthew," Evelyn blurted out. "He's a good man, and he's settled into our world brilliantly well. I'm glad that you found him, Mary, truly. If he had been around during your debut, I dare say none of us would have stood a chance."

Mary smiled and blushed at the compliment. She glanced around the room and noticed several soldiers staring at them, some with knowing smiles on their faces. She smiled sadly as she looked back at Evelyn. The image that they presented was attractive. Two highborn young people chatting amiably, she bearing a child, he a soldier injured fighting for King and Country. It was the exact picture that she would have imagined for herself years ago – married to a family friend, a member of the peerage, doing her duty to him and bearing his children, waiting patiently at home while he went off to fight the Germans. It was now the exact scenario that she was grateful every day to have been spared.

"You're a good man," Mary said, looking at him warmly. "I hope you know that I always thought very highly of you. You were never just an escape for me from Patrick. Please believe that."

"I do," Evelyn nodded. "But I won't lie and say I never thought of being more."

"I'm going to tell you something a wise man once told me," Mary said. "When I went through my troubles, he told me – 'you should simply be yourself, for everyone else is already taken.'"

"Oscar Wilde," Evelyn laughed.

"My future father-in-law, as he then was, quoted that to me," Mary nodded. "And he was right. Being who I was, even back then, made all the difference in the world."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon," Evelyn chuckled. "So I suppose being myself will have to do."

"You're better than most men, Evelyn," Mary smiled. "I can attest to that."

"Thank you, Mary," Evelyn nodded. "Please do come by before you go back to London, and let Matthew know that I'm here, if you would."

"Of course," Mary smiled, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "I'll send him over with a deck of cards."

"I would like that, so long as you join us," Evelyn replied.

"As you wish, Captain Napier," Mary smiled. Evelyn closed his eyes and lay back, and Mary turned and left the room.

"I was wondering where you had gone off to," Matthew smiled as she reached the doorway that led from the hospital to the library.

"Matthew!" Mary exclaimed. "I was just…"

"It's all right," Matthew smiled, taking her hand and linking it with his arm. "I can't be shocked that other men desire my wife's company when in need of comfort to get them through their pain."

"That was Evelyn, actually," Mary said, relieved that he wasn't annoyed with her sitting on another man's bed. "No one mentioned to me that he was here."

"My God," Matthew blinked. "How is he?"

"Recovering," Mary shook her head. "He asked about you. I told him that we could all play cards together before we went back to London."

"Of course," Matthew nodded. "God, Evelyn. The poor man."

"Yes," Mary whispered, leaning into him a bit more as they walked through to the Great Hall. "I don't care if it sounds unpatriotic, but I'm so glad you were spared going over."

"As am I, darling," Matthew said, patting her hand. "Now, what would you like to do this afternoon?"

"It's such a nice day out. I was going to take Diamond out. I haven't seen him in months," she said.

"Diamond? You're not thinking of riding, surely?" Matthew asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Mary asked.

"Well, in your…" Matthew began, then stopped himself.

"In my…what?" Mary frowned at him.

"Erm…in your…well…it's just that…" Matthew stammered.

"In my present condition?" Mary glared at him, releasing his arm. "Are you suggesting that a woman who is with child for three months should not be riding?"

"Well, I simply think that you should be careful, is all," Matthew swallowed.

"So now I am not a careful rider?" Mary questioned. "You think that I'll fall off of Diamond as though I were a mere beginner, do you?"

"No," Matthew retorted defensively. "But it's not the same, Mary. You are after all a bit…"

"A bit what?" Mary asked icily.

"Erm…nothing," Matthew blushed.

"A bit heavier?" Mary demanded, arching her eyebrow at him.

"Is there any possible answer that will save me at this moment?" Matthew cringed.

"Not very likely," Mary said pointedly. "Now, I'm going riding. What do you have to say about that?"

"Could I interest you in taking a walk instead?" Matthew tried again. "As accomplished a rider as you are, darling, all that jostling can't be good for the baby."

Mary watched him for a moment, then sighed.

"Fine. You win," Mary said, patting her stomach. "But I'm agreeing for the sake of my daughter, not for you."

"As you wish. I'll thank you anyway," Matthew laughed, pulling her close and kissing her cheek. Mary grumbled, but returned his embrace. "We can go visit Diamond and bring him some carrots if you like."

"He prefers apples, but yes, we can stop by there first on our walk," Mary relented.

"May I help you change clothes?" Matthew whispered, smirking at her.

"I suppose I should be flattered that my husband desires me at all times of the day," Mary shook her head ruefully. "Though there are only a few hours left before the gong, Matthew."

"I'm well aware," Matthew smiled, taking her hand again and guiding her upstairs. "I can be efficient. It'll be as though we're back at Grantham House and I'm only home for lunch."

Mary elbowed him slightly and blushed. Even though the Great Hall was empty save for them, it was quite scandalous how easily he spoke of their lovemaking in conversation.

"We'll see how efficient you are," Mary smiled, pleased at her husband's blush as they went up to their bedroom.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, March 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"You're staring, Matthew," Mary smiled, looking down at the ground as they walked.<p>

"And if I am? A husband should be permitted to gaze longingly at his wife; particularly when she is wearing such a lovely hat," Matthew teased.

Mary glanced at him with a playful smile. "I'm never going to hear the end of you winning me this hat in the auction, am I?"

"Well, I only think it fair that when you accept compliments for it, that it be pointed out just how you came about it exactly," Matthew shrugged.

"Isn't it enough that your wife is current with the latest fashion?" Mary joked. "Besides, this shade of blue doesn't quite match your eyes, so it wouldn't be obvious that you'd bought it for me."

Matthew laughed as they continued on, Anna following behind them with George holding her hand.

"You do like it though, don't you?" Matthew asked.

"What do you think? I'm wearing it, aren't I?" Mary smiled.

"Here in the country, yes," Matthew nodded. "But when we return to London and all of Society is watching, perhaps you won't be so generous."

"Well, don't worry about that. If I grow bored of it, I'll pass it on to Edith or Sybil, so it will still get some use," Mary said indifferently.

She laughed as Matthew rolled his eyes at her.

"It has been a while since I've seen a travelling fair," Matthew said.

"They probably haven't been as lucrative with the War going on," Mary replied. "This one is a bit different though. Papa is having part of the takings donated to the Red Cross. It's not as big as an event in London, but every bit counts."

"Every bit most certainly does," Matthew smiled, squeezing her hand.

They walked about, looking at different stalls selling knickknacks of different shapes and sizes. Mary smiled as they went. This was exactly what she pictured for them – walking through the Village with her husband and son, an example of the nobility of the House of Grantham, presiding over their future kingdom.

"Candy floss! Look, Mary!" Matthew exclaimed. He released her hand and turned around, holding his arms out as Anna stared at him in horror.

"Come, George!" he smiled, taking the boy's hand from Anna and lifting him up on to his shoulders. "Come see!"

George held on to Matthew's blond hair and shrieked happily as they went over to look at the large bags of pink confection. Mary rolled her eyes and watched them, stunned into silence.

"Master George does look quite happy, Milady," Anna suggested.

"Yes, he always is happy in the arms of his Papa," Mary sighed. "They're like playmates more than father and son sometimes."

"I think it's sweet," Anna smiled. "It makes Mr. Crawley seem more normal."

Mary smiled at the comment.

"There you are. Now share some with Anna," Matthew directed, passing George back to Mary's lady's maid.

George held out a clump of candy floss and Anna thanked him for it. Matthew took Mary's hand again and they continued on.

"I can't be stoic around candy, you know that," Matthew apologized.

"You always are prepared with an excuse at the ready, aren't you?" Mary said.

"All right, beginning now I shall be the perfect English gentleman," Matthew said, raising his chin and sniffing the air.

Mary shook her head at his antics, then smiled as she glanced across the square to a booth on the other side.

"Fancy a go, darling?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the booth.

Matthew looked in the same direction and laughed. "What scheme is this?"

"No scheme at all," Mary said innocently. "I know you enjoy these types of games for commoners."

"I suppose now you will be proposing some stakes?" Matthew said knowingly as he escorted her over to the Coconut Saloon – a stall where bottles were set up at the far end and customers were given three balls to try and knock them down.

"Well it would make the game more interesting," Mary smiled as Matthew paid for each of them to play.

"Very well, what shall be the prize?" Matthew asked.

Mary made a show of holding the balls and thinking for a moment.

"If I win, you must do what I say for the rest of our stay here. No picking up your son and running around like a juvenile in public, no scaring Nanny half to death by removing him from the nursery without telling her, no reading him stories without me, and especially no leaving his blocks all over the floor for Granny to trip over."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I told you I thought I had picked them all up," he grumbled.

"Do we have terms?" she asked sweetly.

"Hold on," he said, stepping towards her and lowering his voice. "When I win, you, my beautiful wife, will do everything that I say for the balance of our stay here. You will allow me free reign with regard to our son, and with regard to you. I will be permitted to make any request that I wish and you will comply. Anything that I wish, Mary."

Mary swallowed, blushing at his innuendo.

"Fine," she said bravely.

"Then let's begin," Matthew said gesturing for her to approach the counter. He turned and winked at George, who was holding on to Anna and watching with great interest.

Matthew smiled as he threw his first ball and knocked off the top bottle. His mind raced with all manner of salacious demands that he would be making of Mary beginning that very evening. Though he would never force her to do anything she didn't want to, the idea of having her indulge all of his desires was fiercely arousing.

He was shaken from his fantasies at the sound of the bottles Mary was aiming at collapse in a heap.

"The Lady wins!" the booth attendant called out.

Matthew looked at Mary in surprise.

"That would be one for me," she grinned.

"One for you," Matthew mumbled, turning back to the counter.

Matthew eventually stopped after Mary won three of the next five rounds. He sighed and took her in his arms, shaking his head at her smug expression.

"Well?" she asked.

"You win. Well done," Matthew said, kissing her cheek.

"Anna," Mary called, stepping out of his hold. "You can go and join the others and enjoy yourself. Mr. Crawley will be watching George."

Anna smiled and thanked her Mistress before passing George to his Papa.

"Now, in a dignified and composed fashion, we can go show him the petting zoo," Mary smirked.

"Yes, darling," Matthew said, shaking his head ruefully.

"Learn this lesson, George," Mary said, smiling down at her son. "Mama is not to be trifled with."


	38. Chapter 38

_**Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, March 1918**_

* * *

><p>"Mr. Matthew Crawley," the butler announced. He motioned for Matthew to go into the sitting room.<p>

"Ah, Matthew," Violet smiled politely. "Thank you for coming."

Matthew walked into the room and glanced about quickly. He frowned in confusion, then smiled politely back at the Dowager Countess.

"Cousin Violet," he greeted her, taking a seat across from hers. "I must be the first to arrive."

"Oh, it's just the two of us today," Violet smiled. "Tea will be served imminently."

She rested her hands on her cane, holding it in front of her. Matthew swallowed slightly. Between her rigid posture and her piercing eyes, he felt as though he was sitting before a Judge, rather than an old woman.

Violet remained silent as tea was served to both of them. She waited until the servants had left the room before she took a careful sip, keeping her eyes on Matthew the entire time.

"Forgive me, Cousin Violet," Matthew said carefully. "I thought that Mary and her sisters would be meeting us here as well. If I knew that you wanted to speak to me alone…"

"Then you would have crafted a polite excuse to avoid it, or at least you would have waited until your mother was here so that you had an ally alongside you," Violet interrupted. "Be at ease, Matthew. You're here for a pleasant visit, not an inquisition."

Matthew nodded, still not entirely relaxed as he sipped his tea. Violet Crawley was a formidable woman and all the things that Mary had told him about her had not done her justice. She could be witty and sarcastic and cutting all in the same phrase, but he wasn't thrown off by that. Matthew was used to having strong-willed women in his life. First his mother, then Mary. No, he was more intimidated by the place he knew that the Dowager Countess held in Mary's heart. She was the one person in the entire family who cared about Mary the most. She didn't only see Mary's good side, like Sybil did. She didn't only focus on Mary's mistakes, like Edith or Robert. She knew Mary and all that she was capable of, and while Matthew did not need anyone's approval, he found that he valued Cousin Violet's opinion more than most.

"I understand that you are taking your family back to London?" Violet asked.

"Yes," Matthew nodded, deciding this was a safe topic. "I think Mary and George will come back after the Season and prepare for the coming of the baby, but they'll spend the next months in London with me."

"Cora intends to give Mary a more prominent role in this Season's party," Violet declared. "With both Mary and Edith married, the attention will be divided, and Mary's reputation is not nearly as tainted as in previous years. Are you familiar with the duties that she will have as a hostess?"

Matthew frowned. "I imagine she'll be greeting guests and mingling? She's quite good at doing both."

"She is," Violet nodded. "And she won't be left in the corner of the salon as in past years. As such, I will count on you to do your duty."

"My duty?" Matthew repeated.

"Yes. You know how these parties work. The women are the centre of attention, and the husbands keep a respectable distance away, remaining stoic and supportive, and most of all, silent," Violet said pointedly.

"You don't want me to talk to Mary?" Matthew frowned.

"No, that's not it," Violet shook her head. "But you must also not monopolize her time."

"Very well," Matthew said slowly, confused as to what she was implying.

"Good, then that's settled," Violet smiled, taking another sip of tea.

"You aren't inviting any special guests to the party that I should know about, are you, Cousin Violet?" Matthew asked.

"Oh, no, my dear," Violet chuckled. "You need not worry about us sending in an Italian nobleman. We've learned our lesson well."

"I'm glad to hear it," Matthew smiled.

"We have no intention of disturbing you, Matthew," Violet continued. "Divorce is simply not an option for our kind of people. I believe that you and Mary will spend many years together. Marriage is a long business, after all."

"Mary once told me the same thing," Matthew smirked.

"And she was right," Violet nodded. "She's a pragmatist, that way. She rarely enters into anything without her eyes being wide open."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Matthew said.

"And so you should," Violet smiled. "I will admit that when you revealed your marriage, I was quite suspicious of both your motives and the precise circumstances that led you to take Mary as your wife."

"You were," Matthew nodded. "You and Cousin Cora both, among others."

"Well, it did come as a great shock," Violet said.

"But as you say, marriage is a long business," Matthew said. "Mary is mine now, for better or worse. I suppose that the family has accepted it, finally."

"We have," Violet agreed. "Some with more enthusiasm than others."

"I hope that I've convinced you that I can give Mary the life she deserves," Matthew said. "I'd like to think that you're on our side."

"I'm on Mary's side, always," Violet replied.

Matthew nodded.

"And Mary is in love with you," Violet smirked.

Matthew blinked in surprise.

"I probably should have guessed years ago when you first arrived," Violet continued. "Using James and Patrick's death was a convenient alibi, but it did strike me as odd that Mary chose to return at the precise moment that the new heir was unveiled."

Matthew remained quiet.

"It did seem as though Mary had settled into her life in Manchester. If she hated the way she was treated by Lady Philomena and others, then one would expect she would have tried to return earlier. And when she did return, she quite kept to herself. I didn't see the level of ire that I expected from her. I didn't see a plan of any kind that would explain her coming back. Of course I didn't realize she had accomplices in our midst."

Matthew finally smiled. "We did consider involving you from the beginning, if that means anything to you."

"It doesn't," Violet shrugged. "But thank you for saying it."

"I see her now, Matthew," Violet said. "I see her and she is so full of life, so different from the woman who left here all those years ago. I see the way the she looks at you; the way she looks at your son; the way that she acts around you. There is a warmth to her when you're around, Matthew. I can't say I've ever seen her so happy, even when she was a child."

Matthew blushed.

"I never imagined that my life would be like this," he said. "And it's all because of her."

"You would do well to remember that, Matthew," Violet said.

"Won't you be here to remind me?" he retorted.

"Rest assured that I will be," Violet smiled genuinely.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, April 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Mmm, lower," Mary smiled, closing her eyes and leaning back against Matthew.<p>

Matthew smiled and moved the sponge down her side and across her lower back. He pressed against her wet skin, sliding the sponge back and forth.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mmm," she nodded.

"I'm going to wash your front now," he said innocently.

"Try and stay focused this time," she teased, keeping her eyes closed.

"I am focused!" he said defensively.

"Focused on the washing part, not focused on me," Mary retorted.

He rolled his eyes. He ran the soap against the sponge. Once he was satisfied with the lather, he trailed the sponge along her shoulders, then down her chest, moving his hand in circles.

"How are preparations coming for next months' party?" he asked. "Please do rely upon me if you need to. I don't want you taking all of this on yourself."

"You're a darling," Mary smiled, lifting her hand out of the water and patting his knee. "But you're rather out of your element when it comes to Society parties, I'm afraid. Everything is all right. Mama is dealing with most of it. She's just having me review the guest list and the theme and decorations, that sort of thing."

"Are you looking forward to it?" he asked, stroking her belly.

"I am, rather," Mary smiled. "I don't particularly see it as the act of redemption that Granny does, but I do enjoy a good party."

"I'll be quite jealous, I'm afraid," Matthew chuckled. "All eyes will be upon you. You'll look gorgeous."

"I'll be very obviously showing that I'm carrying your child, Matthew," Mary huffed. "You have nothing to be concerned about at all. All of Society is well aware of your claim to me, without even seeing the proof of it for themselves."

Matthew laughed with satisfaction.

"Very well. I will proudly stand back and admire you while I beam with pride," he said.

"You've no need to be worried, darling. Granny was just teasing you, you know," Mary said, covering his hands with hers as he touched her.

"Yes, I know," he nodded. "She can just be rather intimidating, is all."

"Well, there's no getting around that," Mary laughed. "Women in our family can be rather imposing when we want to be."

"I suppose I have no chance with this one then, should she be a girl," Matthew smiled, kissing Mary's cheek as he washed her stomach gently.

"None whatsoever," Mary smiled, turning her head and kissing him softly as they enjoyed the warm bath together.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, May 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>Matthew grunted in frustration as he handed his latest decoded message to one of the office girls to take over to Nigel. He flicked his pencil through his fingers, exhaling loudly as he stared at the pile of papers sitting on his desk.<p>

"All right there, Matthew?" Reverend Montgomery asked, coming over to his desk.

"Yes, sir," Matthew nodded. "I'm just feeling a bit frustrated, is all. It seems things have been stalled for months, if not longer."

"Matthew, surely you understand the pattern of this War, by now?" Reverend Montgomery smiled kindly. "There won't be any glorious, decisive blow that announces victory for either side. It will rather be a sequence of events that finally leads to one force deciding to capitulate to the other. Victory will be declared in a boardroom somewhere, not on the battlefield."

"I know," Matthew said. "But that doesn't help as each day passes and we continue on in all this."

"It could be worse," Nigel said, coming over and handing Matthew a document. "We could be at the Front."

Reverend Montgomery laughed.

Matthew looked over the paper. He blinked several times, then looked up at Nigel.

"I'm shocked," he said slowly.

"Manfred von Richthofen," Nigel said. "Also known as the Red Baron. Shot down over Moriancourt Ridge. Pronounced dead upon discovery by the Australians."

"There, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery said. "The foremost pilot of the German Air Force, shot and killed in combat. Will that do for a harbinger of victory?"

"It's still just one man, in the end," Matthew shrugged.

"Precisely. Just one man, but it's a step. One step to be followed by many others. The Germans have been throwing everything they have at us in the past months. They took back Passchendaele Ridge, but it seems we've now stymied their advance. The Americans will be here in full force next month. Small steps of progress, Matthew. Blow by blow, we will win this War, God willing."

Matthew nodded and the men returned to their work.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, May 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I was told that the Yanks are sending 10,000 men per day," the man said. "Surely that must turn the tide in our favour?"<p>

"One would hope so," Matthew nodded. "The Germans are terribly close to Paris at the moment, so we must pray that the arriving reinforcements are enough."

"God, I hate the idea of being beholden to the Americans," another man scoffed. "But after years of War, we can't be choosy about our allies, I suppose. First the Russians rolled over, and now if Paris falls the French will be much weaker. I should hate to see us fighting the good fight alone."

"Exactly," Matthew agreed. "Considering all the countries massed against us under the German banner, the defence of our realm is far more important than who ultimately gets the credit, surely?"

The men nodded in agreement.

"Congratulations, Matthew," another man said. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't aware that Lady Mary was expecting."

"Thank you," Matthew smiled, glancing across the room at his wife. "I'm afraid we've been rather remiss about sending around notices and such. I've left all of that in the hands of my mother-in-law. I'm sure there will be a proper announcement in September when the baby arrives."

Mary was smiling and laughing as she entertained a group of women. It was somewhat new for Matthew to see her being adored and holding court at one of these functions. Even after they announced their marriage years ago, they were never on display at any events. Between the War curtailing a large number of social gatherings, and the two of them preferring smaller dinners with friends who they knew were on their side, there were not many opportunities to open their doors to all of Society. Now, watching Mary's face light up as she joked and gossiped with the guests, Matthew grinned proudly. He always assumed that they would host parties at his home in Manchester, entertaining partners and associates from his law firm one night and hospital donors and patrons the next. Grantham House was a much larger venue, of course, but he knew that Mary would be a wonderful hostess, and indeed watching her now only confirmed it for him.

Sir Anthony was speaking to a group of older men across the room and Matthew remembered that he had not properly spoken to his brother-in-law since Sir Anthony and Edith had arrived earlier in the week.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Please enjoy your evening," Matthew said as he left the group and walked across the room.

"Matthew," a voice called, and Matthew stopped and turned. He automatically put a smile on his face whenever he heard his name, trying to appear the supportive husband and give the best impression he could to the guests. When he realized who had stopped him though, his smile was immediately replaced by a careful nod.

"Lord Merton," Matthew said. "I trust you are enjoying your evening?"

"Very much, Matthew, thank you," Lord Merton smiled. "Lord and Lady Grantham always have the most elegant functions during the Season."

"They do," Matthew replied, hoping the man would release him so he could be on his way.

"My heartiest congratulations to you and Lady Mary," Lord Merton continued. "Children are such a blessing in these trying times, aren't they?"

"They are," Matthew nodded, offering nothing further.

"I am so very pleased to see you and my Goddaughter settled and well," Lord Merton said enthusiastically. "When I took Mary in years ago, I feared for her future. But I stood by her through the storm, knowing that her strength of character would see her to better days, and now here you are!"

"Mary is strong," Matthew said, gritting his teeth behind his closed lips. The nerve of this man to portray himself as having been generous to Mary!

"You know, Matthew, I would very much enjoy hosting you and your family the next time that you return to Manchester. The Crawley name has been so integral to the hospital, you know. It's only fitting that you continue the good work that your father pursued, even if it's from a distance," Lord Merton nodded.

"The funds that my father left to the hospital shall ensure that those he cared about most – the patients – continue to benefit from his legacy, Lord Merton," Matthew said drily. "That is far more important than whether I visit or not."

"Undoubtedly," Lord Merton agreed. "Though perhaps you may wish to consider a more lasting contribution? We're reviewing plans for the next phase of our renovations, and I think your resources would be most helpful in expanding part of the surgical wing. If you covered the construction costs, then I don't see why we shouldn't name that part of the building after your father, so that his name literally is written into the foundation of the hospital itself."

"Perhaps in the future, I will look at such a proposal, but not now," Matthew said. "My focus is on my family, where it belongs, and, as I said, we've already given generously to the hospital in the past."

"Come now, Matthew," Lord Merton shook his head. "Surely you understand the need for action and how important it is that we be decisive and not complacent? Why, what would have happened to your lovely wife had I not stepped forward and taken her in when she arrived in Manchester? If I had merely sat back and waited, debating and mulling over whether or not to answer her call for help, where would she be now?"

"Do not speak of my wife," Matthew frowned, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "You and I both know that you were hardly a friend to her in those days, if you ever were at all."

"How dare you?" Lord Merton sputtered in shock. "It was I who brought her to the hospital in the first place! If not for me…"

"If not for Mary's own strength of character and will to persevere, she would have been locked up in the attic of Lady Philomena's home for all eternity, left to rot like some foul beast," Matthew growled. "Do not try and change history now, Lord Merton. You brought Mary to the hospital to get rid of her, to put her aside and busy her with a job, rather than treat her a Lady of her station deserved. But for _my_ father's intervention, she would have spent her days languishing under Cassandra's whip, and her nights trapped in your sister's prison, which was exactly what you wanted."

Lord Merton's mouth dropped open.

"You never visited Mary during her time in Manchester. Not once. Your own Goddaughter," Matthew snarled, his eyes locked on the older man's. "It was out of fear of a reprisal from Lady Grantham that you took Mary in to begin with. And I use 'taking her in' in the most loosest of definitions, for how you treated her could hardly be deemed generous under any circumstance."

"Thank God that your father is not here to listen to your insolence!" Lord Merton countered. "I suppose I should expect such boorish behaviour from one who has had riches and glory thrust upon him without merit."

"My father knew you well, Lord Merton," Matthew shot back. "Do you think it a mere coincidence that the hospital's share of his Estate was smaller than mine? Do you think he was merely being prudent in establishing a separate, larger fund for my future wife?"

Lord Merton blinked, his eyebrows creasing as he remembered the meeting years ago to hear the reading of Dr. Crawley's Will.

"It was Mary all along," Matthew smiled coldly, watching as realization swept across Lord Merton's face. "My father knew how you treated her. He knew that she triumphed in spite of you, not because of you. Rather than put her at risk and identify her by name in his Will, he made provision for my wife, knowing full well that she had already blessed me by marrying me. The woman that you practically threw aside without a second thought inherited more of my father's Estate than your hospital did, because my father never trusted you to spend money properly, and never believed you would put any gift to the hospital to proper use. So no, Lord Merton, we will not be supporting the hospital at this time, or in the future. We'll establish scholarships at universities that my father believed in, and we'll donate to the Red Cross and to programs in Manchester designed to help the poor pay for medical expenses. We'll give money to those interested in helping people, not in boosting their own reputation."

"You…you…" Lord Merton gasped.

"But, if you want a benefactor for your hospital expansion, perhaps you should ask my wife for a contribution?" Matthew suggested. "The money that my father left to Mary was invested wisely and prudently, leaving her with a rather tidy sum, all in her own name, all under her own authority. I doubt she will want to help any cause that involves you stealing the credit and basking in the adulation, but one never knows. The 'Lady Mary Crawley Surgery Wing' has a certain ring to it."

Lord Merton opened and closed his mouth several times like a bewildered fish.

"Do enjoy your evening, Lord Merton," Matthew nodded, turning and leaving the old man behind.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Afternoon Tea, The Savoy Hotel, Westminster, London, England, June 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Captain Napier," Matthew smiled, shaking Evelyn's hand.<p>

"Evelyn, Matthew, please," Evelyn shook his head. He kissed Mary on the cheek and motioned for them to be seated at the elegantly appointed table.

"How are you doing?" Mary asked as their tea was poured. "Has the move back to London been agreeable for you?"

"Very, although I do miss Lady Sybil telling me to take my pills and Mrs. Crawley admonishing me to do my therapy exercises," Evelyn laughed.

"Don't scare Mary," Matthew shook his head and laughed. "She'll be back in their clutches soon enough."

"Not until August," Mary said pointedly. "You won't be rid of me until then."

"And I am quite grateful that you're staying on until then," Matthew smiled at her.

Evelyn watched them across the table as Matthew poured milk into Mary's tea. When he first saw them together, before their marriage was announced, he felt they looked odd – a tall, blond man and a thin, fair skinned and dark haired woman. Of course, he felt back then that Mary looked far more appropriate next to a man like Evelyn than Matthew, but the more he saw them together, the more he had to admit they were very well matched. It was their eyes. The blue and dark brown contrasted well, and their eyes seemed to be lively and bright when they looked at each other. Indeed, Evelyn could not recall Mary reacting in the same way to anyone else.

"You won't be called back anytime soon, will you?" Matthew asked with concern. "You're still in convalescence, just not at Downton."

"That's right," Evelyn nodded. "I didn't need to occupy one of the beds there, particularly when there were far worse cases requiring your family's excellent care. I've been taking things slowly since I came back home. I expect that I will be needed in the fall, but no sooner than that. My men have all been reassigned to other battalions, those who survived anyway."

Mary nodded in understanding, sipping her tea.

"Have you heard anything?" Evelyn asked delicately. "I had heard the last German offensive towards Paris was snuffed out."

"The French and the Americans stopped them in only four days," Matthew nodded. "They never reached the city. My superiors think the Germans are becoming desperate, and that they've overcommitted their forces, leaving them vulnerable to a counter offensive. There was word that the Austrians were deserting. They were beaten rather soundly by the Italians weeks ago. We'll see, I suppose. I've learned to be cynical regarding most news. I never seem to have the full context to evaluate it properly."

"My husband and I have switched roles, as it were," Mary smiled at Matthew. "He's the brooding pessimist and all I see are rainbows and sunshine."

Evelyn laughed.

"And so you should, darling," Matthew smiled, patting her hand. "Our child should come into this world amidst the happiest of moods."

"How is Viscount Branksome? Papa hasn't had time to call upon him as of yet, I know. I expect they'll be going to watch the races at some point this Season?" Mary asked.

"Undoubtedly," Evelyn nodded. "Though Papa is feeling rather under the weather lately. He was up coughing half the night last night."

"How awful," Matthew said. "George was rather loud last night as well. Thankfully Nanny was up to the task."

"And neither of us have been sleeping very soundly these days, I'm afraid," Mary shrugged. "This baby has been far fussier than George was. It's taken me ages to get comfortable at night."

"Please tell Lord Grantham that Papa will call upon him when he's recovered," Evelyn nodded. "I can't see him staying down for long."

"Good," Matthew said. "I would hate to see a bout of cough keep Viscount Branksome away from his beloved races."

They all smiled and continued chatting over tea, scones and other pastries.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, July 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Ladies and gentlemen," Robert smiled, looking around the room. "It is my esteemed pleasure to present to you – Mr. and Mrs. John Bates."<p>

The family applauded heartily as Bates and Anna came into the room. Both of them blushed in embarrassment as they walked into the centre, accepting the cheers of their employers and fellow servants standing around them.

"Come on, Anna!" Sybil called. "Give him a proper kiss!"

Anna blushed even more and looked over at Bates. Bates raised his eyebrows at her playfully. She nodded and he took her in his arms and kissed her soundly as the family laughed and clapped loudly.

Drinks and hors d'oeuvres were served and the happy couple mingled about with their guests, their duties as servants set aside for the day. Aunt Rosamund had leant her servants to take care of the reception, thereby allowing all the Grantham House staff to share in Anna and Bates' special day.

"Well done, Papa," Mary smiled, raising her glass of water to him. "I dare say this is the first time an Earl of Grantham has hosted the wedding lunch of a servant."

"It certainly didn't happen in your father's time," Cora laughed at her husband.

"Well, Bates was my comrade-at-arms, of course," Robert nodded. "It's the least we could do."

"I agree," Mary nodded, sipping her water.

"How are you doing, dear?" Cora asked Edith. "Are you sleeping any better?"

"I am, thank you," Edith smiled. "Mary told me to use an extra pillow and it's made a world of difference."

Sybil smiled and raised her eyebrow in surprise at the idea of Mary helping Edith.

"Matthew!" Robert smiled as Matthew joined them. "We thought we'd lost you."

"Sorry about that," Matthew said, smiling at Mary. "That was Nigel calling from the office."

"You don't have to go in, do you? Not at this hour, surely?" Mary frowned.

"No, he just wanted to give me an update. It seems that the French and the Americans drove the Germans back from the Marne. They've withdrawn," Matthew said, looking around at the rest of the family.

"That's good news, isn't it?" Cora asked Robert.

"Very good news," Robert nodded. "It means we've survived their push to Paris and are driving them back. We're hoping to counter attack now and weaken them significantly."

"That is good news," Mary smiled. "It's about time that we pushed back."

"My thoughts exactly," Robert smiled at her. "We've been absorbing their attacks for months now and thankfully we've held firm. Now's the time to strike when they're at their lowest."

"Do you think that the end may be coming, then?" Sybil asked.

Matthew held Mary's hand and they all looked over at Bates and Anna laughing as they fed each other cake.

"God knows," Matthew said quietly.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"I should have just stayed in London," Mary rolled her eyes.<p>

"Come now, Mary," Cora shook her head. "Surely you want your baby born at Downton?"

"Not literally!" Mary replied. "I expected Clarkson to deliver her at the hospital and to have her baptised at the Village Church as all of us and George were. But with all these reported cases of the flu and the hospital so busy, I wonder if I wasn't better off staying in the city."

"There's probably more flu patients there," Isobel said. "Besides, Matthew's already on his way. Branson's left to collect him."

"When he hears about our having to deliver the baby here, rather than the hospital, he'll throw me on the next train to London," Mary said pointedly.

"Or to Manchester," Sybil smiled.

"God help us all," Violet smirked.

Isobel smiled at her in understanding.

"Mr. Crawley," Carson announced as Matthew came into the room.

"Cousin Cora, Cousin Violet, Mother, Sybil," Matthew nodded to the circle as he approached.

"Hello, darling," Matthew smiled as he leaned down and kissed Mary on the cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Disturbed," Mary replied. "I've been informed that we'll be delivering the baby here at Downton, rather than the hospital."

"Really? But why?" Matthew asked in surprise, glancing at his mother.

"The hospital is rather overloaded with flu patients at the moment, and Cousin Violet and Cousin Cora think it best if Mary remain here at the house instead," Isobel explained.

"You were a supporter of the idea, as well," Violet said to Isobel.

"I am," Isobel nodded. "I don't think the risk is as strong as they do, but if Mary is comfortable here, there's no reason why we can't have a safe and proper delivery in her bedroom."

"So will Clarkson come up, then?" Matthew asked.

"He will," Isobel nodded. "And Sybil and I will assist. Better to keep the nurses at the hospital out of it. I wouldn't want to steal them away for this."

"I told them that you would probably prefer if we go back to London," Mary looked at him.

"That is an option, I suppose," Matthew nodded. "All that matters is where you are most as ease, darling. We were already planning to stay here until the baby arrives."

"Then that settles it," Cora smiled. "It will be a nice piece of family history – the future Earl and Countess having their second child in these very halls."

"I want a footman to be guarding the stairs," Mary said. "God have mercy on any unsuspecting kitchen maid who wanders in while I'm trying to have this baby."

Cora looked at Isobel with a wry expression and shook her head.

"Lady Mary, Mr. Crawley, Master George has been jumping up and down waiting for his Papa to arrive," Nanny called as she came into the room with George tugging on her hand.

"Pa-pa!" the boy yelled out, releasing Nanny's hand.

"Sybil, can you please?" Mary asked as Matthew was in the midst of putting sugar in his tea cup.

"Come here, George!" Sybil called brightly, getting up from her chair and holding her arms out.

"Aunt Syb-Syb!" George gurgled, running over and falling into his aunt's arms.

"Oof! He's becoming a big boy!" Sybil laughed, picking George up and holding him in her arms.

"He was nearly thirty pounds when we last weighed him," Mary said. "I suspect his Papa has been feeding him all manner of sweets without my knowledge."

"I've only been feeding him what my Papa fed me when I was a toddler," Matthew protested.

"Good lord, then he really is in trouble!" Isobel exclaimed.

Mary and Matthew laughed along with her.

"I do hope this one's a girl," Cora smiled, looking at George. "It will be so nice to have a little princess running around here."

"Well, between Mary and Edith, you're bound to have a granddaughter this year," Isobel smiled.

"Perhaps two," Mary said.

Matthew patted her shoulder affectionately. She reached up and covered her hand with his, smiling as they watched Sybil bounce George in her arms as the little boy laughed and squealed happily.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1918**_

* * *

><p>Matthew closed the book he had long ago stopped reading with a frustrated clap. He rose from the sofa and walked over to the bookshelf, putting the book back in its place. His fingers walked across the spines of several others books nearby; each one he had read before, several of which he had greatly enjoyed. None of them held his interest now.<p>

He turned away and walked over to the window, glancing out at the sunny skies and green fields in the distance. He and Robert had spoken about making some further changes around the Estate. Another farm had become available as the unfortunate family had lost a son in the War, a daughter to the Spanish flu, and the parents decided to go back to Swansea and live with relatives. Robert had been visiting the tenants recently and set up payment schedules for rent arrears. There was a guarded optimism about the future now, with the War swinging slightly in the Allies' favour in light of the success of the counter-offensive in France. However, with the recent flu outbreak and stresses on food and resources across the country, a bleak pall was still cast across the land.

But Matthew wasn't concerned with any of that now.

He left the window and went and sat back down on the sofa. He rubbed his hands together, glancing around the room for some distraction. He wasn't in the mood to try reading another book. It was too early for a drink, he thought, as he glanced at the bar cart in the corner. He had already finished the small amount of work he had brought with him from London. He got up from the sofa briskly and wandered around the room. All that was left was the waiting.

"Matthew," Robert called across the library as he walked in.

"Please do not ask me to sit down. I simply cannot," Matthew waved his hand, resuming his pacing.

Robert smiled at the sight of the expectant father, his son-in-law. The Earl went over and sat down in his chair. The clock struck the change of another hour, and Robert watched Matthew grit his teeth.

Looking back, Robert had to admit that he was rarely, if ever, angry with Matthew. Considering the stunt that he tried to pull with his Bill in Parliament – and the true motive for it – as well as the changes he'd made to the Estate while Robert was away, it was shocking he wasn't more churlish or disappointed with Matthew. It was obvious what Robert's own father would have thought of the solicitor from Manchester. But Robert always seemed to give Matthew the benefit of the doubt and trusted that he had good intentions, both for himself and for the family.

Robert wondered if the affection he felt for Matthew wasn't simply just the thrill of finally having a son of a sort. It had to be more than that. Matthew had a way about him that made others want to trust him, to be comfortable around him. Robert had noticed it right from his arrival. Edith, Sybil, even the servants all seemed to have a rapport with Matthew that was so natural and unguarded. The man was hardly charismatic. He still struggled in company when he was required to lead a conversation and didn't command attention the way many other gentlemen did. But there was a quiet confidence about him, a sense that he knew himself and wasn't too bothered by what others thought of him. In a world where everyone was concerned about their image and their reputation, Matthew's seeming disregard for both was refreshing.

Of course, Robert envied the way that Matthew knew instinctively how to deal with Mary, as well. There was a skill that the man seemed to have mastered. He knew how to let Mary have her way on issues that ultimately were not overly important, and he knew when to stand up for what he believed in without seeming to be overly objectionable or argumentative. Robert found himself still uneasy around his eldest daughter, and he knew she felt the same. It was simpler when they disliked each other and only spoke to each other when they had to. Now, with their delicate truce enduring through each day, they were cordial with one another, but it was a struggle to speak freely and not be suspicious or wonder at an ulterior motive. Matthew had no such obstacles, and maybe that was what Robert admired most about him. Matthew could speak to both him and Mary without reservation.

"That rug that you are wearing tracks into dates back to the 14th century, you know," Robert joked.

Matthew stopped pacing and looked over at him apologetically. He ran his hand through his hair and opened his mouth to speak when they were interrupted.

"Your Lordship. Mr. Crawley," Clarkson called as he came into the room.

"Dr. Clarkson!" Matthew exclaimed anxiously, moving towards the man. "Is it done then? Are Mary and the baby okay?"

"Yes. Yes, Mr. Crawley, they are. Both of them," Clarkson nodded sympathetically.

"Thank God," Matthew said with relief. Clarkson patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"However," Clarkson said, glancing over at Robert before turning back to Matthew. "There is something you should know about your baby."

Matthew frowned, but Robert smiled. He had this exact conversation with the Doctor three times previously.

"At ease, Major Clarkson," Robert smiled. "You will find I am not so against what you are about to say as my father was."

"Yes, my Lord," Clarkson nodded gratefully.

Matthew looked at both men with a puzzled expression.

"Don't worry Matthew," Robert said. "What he is trying to tell you is that you have a baby girl."

Matthew's mouth opened and he looked quickly at Clarkson for confirmation.

"That's correct," Clarkson said. "A beautiful baby girl with dark hair, who was rather stubborn about her arrival, but it's all fine now. I was very grateful for both your mother and Lady Sybil's assistance. They both helped put Mary at ease."

"Thank you," Matthew beamed, shaking Clarkson's hand.

"Of course, Mr. Crawley," Dr. Clarkson smiled.

"Congratulations, Matthew," Robert smiled, rising from the sofa and going over to shake his heir's hand. "Mama and Cora will be overjoyed."

"Thank you," Matthew nodded, returning the Earl's handshake. "And what about you?"

"You've already done your duty through George," Robert said. "Make no mistake, I shall spoil this princess to no end."

Matthew laughed and nodded.

"Now, before you go running upstairs and startle everyone, be so kind as to share her name, would you?" Robert asked kindly.

"Stella," Matthew said softly.

"Stella," Robert repeated, testing out the name for himself. "Well, if she's anything like her Mama, she is anxiously awaiting your arrival. Go, Matthew."

Matthew smiled again at Robert and Dr. Clarkson before leaving the library.

"You're right, my Lord," Clarkson said, watching Matthew run off. "Baby girls are received far more warmly in this House now."

Robert did not take offence to the Doctor's comment.

"They are," he said simply. "With good reason, Major. We men are already outnumbered, so we may as well try and get along with them."

* * *

><p>Matthew knocked on the door, his stomach fluttering as he waited nervously for someone to answer. The door opened slightly and his mother's smiling face greeted him.<p>

"Mother, can I please…" Matthew said, moving towards the door.

Isobel held her hand up.

"You shouldn't have come up, it's not proper," she said, before smiling wider. "Which is how I knew that you would."

Matthew shook his head ruefully. "May I see my wife and daughter, please?" he asked impatiently.

"Mary is resting," Isobel explained, "But, don't worry, she will be fine. Come in."

"What do you mean, she 'will be' fine?" Matthew frowned as he entered the room.

"I don't think you want to know the exact details," Isobel said gently. "Suffice it to say that she needs her rest. But, you can see Stella. Sybil is holding her, but I'm sure she can part with her, for you."

"Cousin Matthew," Sybil smiled, whispering his name as she carried a swaddled bundle over to him. "Be mindful. She's sleeping, and so is Mary."

Matthew glanced over at the bed where Mary was indeed sleeping soundly. His heart clenched slightly, knowing his wife was exhausted from giving him their second child, a daughter to go with his beautiful son and heir. He felt helpless that he could not do anything to help Mary recover from the birth, and at the same time he did not think he could love her any more than he did now.

"Matthew," Isobel said gently, pulling at his arm to draw his attention back to his daughter.

Matthew carefully pulled the swaddle blanket back from Stella's face. Just as Clarkson said, she had wisps of dark brown hair coming out from the small cap she wore. Her eyes were closed, and she dozed peacefully, her head turned slightly towards Sybil's breast.

"She is tiny," Matthew said in wonder, caressing her soft cheek.

"Actually, she's bigger than George was when he was born," Isobel noted, watching Stella the entire time.

"Here," Sybil smiled, passing the baby to Matthew. "I'm going to take the rest of the linens and towels downstairs. Anna will bring up some tea and food for Mary in a while."

Matthew beamed at his daughter as he rocked her gently back and forth.

"Thank you, Sybil," Matthew said, glancing over at his sister-in-law.

"Thank you, Cousin Matthew," Sybil grinned. "I think I'm going to enjoy being an aunt to this one."

Sybil left the room as Matthew continued to stare at his daughter.

"A girl, Mother," he whispered, beaming once more. "Can you believe it?"

"No, I can't," Isobel shook her head, smoothing the blanket over her granddaughter's stomach. "But your father always told me that you would do great things, and it appears this is another on your list of accomplishments."

"Well I didn't do it alone, obviously," Matthew muttered, looking over at his mother. "And I'm sure you're overjoyed at finally having a little girl to call you Grandmamma."

"Yes, indeed I am," Isobel grinned, still looking at Stella. "Speaking of which, I'm going to go look in on George. I'll be by later."

"Thank you, Mother," Matthew whispered.

Isobel smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Stella Crawley, you're going to break so many hearts," Matthew laughed, walking gingerly around the room holding his sleeping daughter. "You have hair like your Mama it seems, and I hope you have her eyes as well. She has the most incredible eyes, you know. You'll see. They have their own language that takes some time to decipher, but once you do, to feel those eyes upon you is the most wonderful feeling, my precious girl."

"Unless of course you make Mama angry, which is a skill that your Papa has long mastered," Mary said quietly, smirking at the pair as she sat up in bed.

Matthew laughed, carrying their daughter over to the bed.

"Darling, you should rest," he said, sitting down next to her.

"That will be rather difficult, I'm afraid," Mary rolled her eyes. She glanced at Stella's sleeping form and grinned. "She's rather beautiful, isn't she?"

"Just like her Mama," Matthew grinned, kissing Mary's cheek.

"Is that the best you can do?" Mary teased, arching her eyebrows at him.

"Certainly not," Matthew smiled, leaning in and kissing her properly.

Matthew sat back against the pillows, holding Stella in his arms. Mary rested her head on his shoulder and leaned into his side.

"I told you it would be a girl," Mary mumbled with satisfaction.

"That you did," Matthew nodded. "Any ideas on what the next one will be?"

"Don't push your luck, Matthew," Mary said, closing her eyes as she snuggled against him. "After what I just had to endure, I'm not even thinking of having another child."

"Very well," Matthew chuckled, leaning over and kissing the top of her head.

She dozed off again, and Matthew smiled pleasantly as he enjoyed the tranquil moment with his wife and daughter.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, September 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"George," Mary said as she entered the nursery. "It's time for our walk."<p>

It was a little tradition she had started with her son since they had returned to London. Every afternoon they would walk through Kensington Gardens, and when Matthew returned from work he would read from Peter Pan. But, today despite the fact that Nanny had her son dressed and ready, she could see he was not excited.

"Darling," she said offering her hand. "Come along."

George, however, did not move. His gaze was fixated across the nursery and Mary followed what held his attention. It was Nanny as she attended to his baby sister. Mary watched the routine actions and how they captivated her son. However, when Stella whimpered, George moved as fast as his little legs would carry him to the changing table.

"Master George," Nanny said, "Please stand back."

George frowned but did as he was told. Mary went over to her son and took his hand.

"She's quite alright darling," she said with reassurance. The look on her son's face was reminiscent of his grandfather, the way he had always cared for people. If George had not been destined to be the next Earl of Grantham, she could have sworn they had a little doctor on their hands.

Mary brushed George's carefully coiffed blond hair away his forehead.

"I promise," she said sincerely. "Now, come along."

George took one last look over at Stella. He turned his head and slowly followed his Mama to the door, clinging to her hand. Anna smiled as she watched the entire scene play out.

"It's amazing what Master George seems to be aware of at such a young age, isn't it, Milady?" the maid asked, smiling at the young boy.

"He's as curious as his Papa already," Mary smiled as Bates opened the door for them. "Let's hope Stella grows into a proper young lady otherwise they'll be quite a handful together."

Anna laughed. She shared a knowing look with her own husband and followed her Mistress out the door.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, October 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"What would you do, honestly?" Nigel asked, looking at Matthew inquisitively.<p>

Matthew looked at him carefully, then back down at his desk as he contemplated the question. Reverend Montgomery stood nearby, leaning against a table as he watched them.

"I suppose it depends on what rank I would have," Matthew finally said. "If I was a mere soldier, then I would carry on as ordered and keep fighting. If I was an officer, I would debate my course of action more thoroughly. If the situation looked despondent and hopeless, then perhaps I would question whether continuing to fight was wise."

"Based on what?" Nigel asked, smiling slightly. "You can't predict the future. Perhaps the Germans have reinforcements on the way so all you need to do is hang on and the tide will turn, just as it did for us with the Americans arriving."

"If that information was available, then I would consider it," Matthew replied. "However, if anything the Germans are losing nations from their cause, rather than gaining them."

"It's as I told you before, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "The ultimate surrender of the German Empire will not be decided by those at the Front, but rather by politicians in Berlin."

Matthew turned and looked at his superior.

"And what is the status of those discussions?" he asked.

"Difficult to say," Reverend Montgomery shrugged. "There are always factions in any government who do not favour War. Even here at home, there are many opposed to it. The call for peace is always present, it's merely a question of whether those in power hear it or not."

"If the Germans were at our gates, would we call for peace?" Nigel asked. "Or would we fight to the last breath?"

"That's different," Matthew pointed out. "The Germans started the War. We didn't."

"Didn't we?" Nigel smiled. "Were we not the ones to declare War upon them?"

"You would have allowed them to traipse across Belgium unhindered?" Matthew asked.

"I'm not particularly bothered by what happens to Belgium," Nigel said lightly.

"He's just joking, Matthew," Reverend Montgomery smiled.

"Speaking hypothetically, then," Nigel nodded. "Why should the Germans be any different when faced with their coming defeat? Shouldn't they want to go down with all guns firing?"

"Their command may want them to, but whether morale among the soldiers is high enough to continue a hopeless cause is another question," Matthew said.

"Precicsely," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "Which is why we must be even more vigilant in our work. If the Germans are as desperate as we think, they may try one last attack, one last attempt at glory rather than go peacefully."

Matthew nodded and turned back to the stack of papers on his desk.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, October 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Now, where were we?" Matthew asked, kissing Mary's cheek, then opening the book that he had been reading to her for the past week.<p>

"I can't recall," Mary sighed.

"You can't?" Matthew frowned, looking over at her. "I thought you were rather enjoying it."

"I was, and now I'm not," Mary said plainly, playing with the threads of the blanket draped across her chest.

Matthew looked at her for a moment, then closed the book and put it back on the nightstand.

"What is it?" he asked patiently, turning on his side to face her.

"Nothing, it's nothing," Mary shook her head, still staring at the blanket.

"It's something," Matthew said pointedly. He reached over and stilled her hands with his. "Tell me, darling, please."

Mary sighed, then looked over at him.

"You haven't tried to seduce me in months, since before Stella was born," she frowned.

Matthew blinked in surprise.

"What?" he exclaimed.

"Don't you want…" Mary blushed, then swallowed and continued. "Don't you want me anymore?"

"God, Mary!" Matthew hissed, his mouth gaping. "Of course I want you!"

"Then why haven't you…done anything?" she asked, blushing even more. "We've been back to London for almost two months now and the most we've done is a few polite kisses before bed!"

"But I thought we had to wait!" Matthew said, blushing himself a bit now.

"What gave you that idea?" Mary frowned in disbelief. "After George was born, you were…you were quite demanding within a month."

"But that was different," Matthew whinged. "You didn't need to…recover…from his birth as much as you do now."

"I'll be the judge of how much recovery I require, thank you," Mary scoffed, looking away from him.

"I…" Matthew stammered. He took a breath, then reached over and gently turned Mary's face back towards him.

"Darling, I apologize if I've neglected you," he said sincerely. "It was entirely unintentional, I assure you. God, if you knew how many times I…"

"How many times you what?" Mary asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

Matthew looked down.

"Matthew?" Mary asked again.

"How many times I've had to…manage…on my own…while thinking that you weren't ready yet," he said quietly.

Mary blinked several times in confusion, then her eyes widened as she made sense of what he was saying.

"You were…you did? Without even telling me!" Mary said in astonishment.

"Well, I thought it would put undue pressure upon you if I said anything, and it isn't the type of thing easily discussed, you know!" Matthew said defensively.

"And how long were you intending to pursue this…strategy?" Mary demanded.

"I don't know! I hadn't thought it out. I just assumed that when you were ready you would let me know," Matthew replied.

"Well I'm bloody well telling you that I'm ready then!" Mary retorted. "And for your information, I've been ready for almost a month now!"

"Well good! I've been waiting desperately! I was ready long before that!" Matthew shot back.

They glared at each other for a moment before they both laughed ruefully.

"Wife," Matthew said teasingly, reaching over and cupping her cheek.

"Husband," Mary replied, covering his hand with hers and arching her eyebrow at him.

"It appears we have a great deal of catching up to do," Matthew smiled, leaning into her and kissing her softly.

"A very great deal," Mary agreed, kissing him back and shifting on to her back, pulling him with her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, November 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Reverend Montgomery," Matthew called, waving a piece of paper. Nigel and Reverend Montgomery both came over to his desk. Nigel took the paper from Matthew and scanned it carefully.<p>

"I've checked it three times. It's very similar to the message I saw from the German port at Wilhelmshaven months ago. Apparently there was unrest there again last week and now it's spread to Kiel," Matthew explained.

Reverend Montgomery nodded.

"_Meuterei_," he said, reading the paper himself now. "Yes, there have been other reports of red flags being run up over bridges and protests in the streets."

"The call for peace has apparently become much louder in recent days," Nigel noted.

"And it may reach a deafening crescendo if this be the last moments of the War," Reverend Montgomery nodded. "The Kaiser's military situation grows ever dire and his sailors know as much. If the Navy refuses to fight, then perhaps the rest of the forces can be convinced."

"These next days could prove decisive," Nigel said.

"We're closer than we've ever been to the end of all this," Matthew added.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Sir," Bates nodded, taking Matthew's briefcase, coat and hat.<p>

"Bates," Matthew smiled. "Where is Anna, Bates?"

"She's downstairs preparing for dinner, sir," Bates replied. "Lady Mary is in the sitting room."

"Excellent," Matthew nodded. "Bates, please gather the servants in the parlour in about half an hour."

"Very good, sir," Bates nodded.

Matthew left him and walked through to the sitting room. Mary was sitting on the sofa reading.

"Darling," she smiled, looking up as he came in. "You're home."

"I am," Matthew grinned. He kissed her on the cheek, then went over to the side table.

Mary went back to reading. She looked up and frowned as she heard music filling the air. She turned around and raised her eyebrow in curiosity at the sight of her husband fiddling with the gramophone.

"Matthew?" she asked.

Matthew came over to her, smiling all the while. He reached out his hands. She slowly placed her hands in his and he helped her up from the sofa.

"Matthew?" she asked again in surprise as he took her into hold. Her hands automatically assumed the proper position and her feet followed him as he led her through a slow waltz to the rhythm of the song.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked him, smiling as they danced.

"Nothing at all," Matthew said lightly. "Do I need a reason to dance with my wife?"

"It is peculiar, being that there is no function or event currently going on that would require us to dance," Mary said, continuing to move with him.

"I prefer it when it's just the two of us," Matthew replied, holding her close. "I don't like having an audience."

"You're up to something," she chuckled playfully as he swept her across the floor, his hand was placed rather inappropriately across her lower back, and she kept glancing at his lips, so tantalizingly close to hers.

"Are we celebrating anything in particular?" Mary asked as they swayed back and forth.

"We have much to be thankful for," Matthew nodded. "Being happily married for almost seven years now, for example."

"Three if you're counting from our ceremony at Downton," Mary smiled.

"I most certainly am not, Miss Levinson," Matthew said pointedly.

Mary laughed. "That's it?"

"No. We also have two beautiful children to be thankful for," Matthew continued.

"Which reminds me, your son threw a tantrum when I told him it was too cold to go outside to the park today, and your daughter spit up on Anna again," Mary replied.

"Regardless," Matthew said. "They are wonderful."

"They have their moments, yes," Mary agreed.

"We have our health, and our family, and Downton's future looks safe," Matthew said.

Mary nodded, not wanting to joke about any of that. Since returning to London, she had heard about the true impact of the Spanish Flu. Their family had been spared, but she knew of family friends who had lost loved ones and servants to the virus. It seemed under control now, but she was still wary of even the slightest cough or sniffle from anyone in the house.

Matthew was right, though. Mary was in regular contact with her Mama and Granny, speaking to each of them by telephone almost daily. They talked about the children, and Society gossip, and goings on at the hospital and other such news. Sybil called when she could, which was usually once or twice a week with her nursing schedule. Edith was likely to have her baby in December, and had been remaining at Loxley House, only going to Downton for dinner on weekends now. Mary was in touch with her as well, answering her numerous questions about what was to come, sometimes more than once.

It was a life that Mary thought she'd bid farewell to years ago on the train platform in Manchester. After she and Matthew were married, she knew she would have a happy life when they eventually were able to live together. She expected she would have children with him and live a quiet but fulfilling life in his house. To now be in London with him and their children, and with her family and Downton a part of her life, considering where she was years ago, it was difficult to believe.

"And we should be thankful that we've survived long enough to see the end of the War," Matthew whispered in her ear.

It took Mary several seconds to understand what he said, as she was still lost in her thoughts. When she did register his words, she pulled back slightly to look into his bright eyes.

"Please don't mention something so important unless you're sure, Matthew," she warned him.

"I am sure," he grinned. "The Armistice will begin on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of this month. It's over, darling."

He leaned forward and kissed her, and she kissed him back, hugging him close.

"It's over," she repeated as he smiled at her. "Oh, thank God."

"I spoke with Robert this morning," Matthew said as the song came to an end. "He left for Downton this afternoon. He'll inform the servants and remain there through to November 11. He said he felt it was more appropriate to be there when the hour arrived."

Mary nodded, still in shock over the prospect that the War, the event that had dominated their lives for the past four years, was soon to be over.

"Come," Matthew smiled, taking her hand and guiding her towards the door. "I told Bates to gather the servants so we can tell them the news together."

Mary smiled and followed him out of the sitting room, looking forward to sharing the wonderful announcement with the rest of the household.

* * *

><p>"Nanny?" George asked as Matthew lifted the boy off the floor.<p>

"Nanny is outside with the rest of the staff, George," Matthew said patiently. "We let them go out to The Strand and celebrate with everyone else."

George stared at Matthew for a moment, then looked down as though he were contemplating his words.

"Just be glad he was able to pronounce 'Nanny' properly," Mary smiled, carrying Stella with her. "Watch out, though. He might start asking on the whereabouts of everyone he knows and you'll be answering questions for hours."

"I've got the time," Matthew smiled at her. He opened the doors to the terrace and allowed Mary to walk out first.

They both took seats on the balcony overlooking The Mall and Charring Cross in the distance. There had been noise and commotion all morning with millions flooding the streets in anticipation of the Armistice becoming official. Rather than take the children out amongst the crowd, Mary suggested they remain at home, and take a view of the celebrations from the terrace.

"Were you able to reach your Aunt Rosamund?" Matthew asked.

"I did," Mary nodded, rocking Stella in her arms. "She's getting together with some friends, of course, to mark the occasion. I told her we would be heading to Downton before Edith had the baby, and she said she expects to be there in December as well."

Matthew nodded, then checked his father's pocket watch. "Any moment now," he announced.

"Papa!" George exclaimed as cheers and fireworks came up from the direction of The Strand.

Matthew lifted George and placed him on his shoulders so he could see better. Mary shook her head and sighed at the display. She looked down at Stella, who had fallen asleep in her arms.

"I'm glad that she won't remember any of this, that neither of them will," Mary said suddenly, looking over at Matthew.

Matthew simply nodded. "Growing up in a world without war, what a lovely thought."

Matthew leaned over and kissed her lightly, careful not to unbalance George or disturb Stella. He turned back as George clapped along with the cheers and marvelled at the fireworks.

Mary smiled as the roar of the crowds grew louder and all of Britain yelled out in relief and delight.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Room 40, Admiralty Building, Whitehall, London, England, December 1918**_

* * *

><p>Matthew organized the papers on his desk in neat piles. One of the office girls came by with a cart and he placed a small stack of books into one of the boxes. Glancing back at his desk, he smiled and nodded to the girl and she pushed the cart away.<p>

Staring back at the piles of papers for a moment, Matthew blinked and opened the drawer of his desk. He smiled as he removed several notebooks. Flipping the first one open, he chuckled to himself as he perused his old notes.

"Don't let them take that one," Nigel said, grinning at him. "You should hang on to that and try and publish it. Could be worth something someday."

"Hardly," Matthew laughed, closing the notebook and setting it aside with the others. "Just the scribblings of a very confused and intimidated young man. God, has it really been over two years?"

"What is it they say about time?" Nigel asked.

Matthew looked up at him. "It waits for no man?" he asked.

"Yes, and it flies?" Nigel suggested.

"I suppose one could say we had our fair share of fun, didn't we?" Matthew asked, looking around the room as staff were moving about packing up.

"More so than the soldiers did," Nigel nodded. "You're sure that you won't stay on?"

"I am sure," Matthew smiled confidently. "Reverend Montgomery spent all last week trying to sway me, but with the War over, I'm no longer needed here. This was a reprieve, a welcome blessing that rescued me from spending the last two years in the trenches, or worse. But, it's time to get back to the real world and stop playing at being a spy. I'm not cut out for this as a full time occupation, and I certainly don't trust myself to teach anyone else how to do it. I'll leave the future of British Intelligence to the experts."

"You just want to return to a country life in Yorkshire with your wife and children," Nigel smiled.

"Most definitely," Matthew agreed happily.

"We'll miss you, Matthew. You have skill," Nigel said. "Perhaps we'll try and lure you back when we're faced with a particularly difficult challenge in the future."

"You know where to find me," Matthew said, extending his hand. "Good luck to you, Nigel."

Nigel de Grey shook Matthew's hand warmly. "And to you, Matthew."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Where did these come from?" Matthew frowned as he came into the dining room and looked at the large floral arrangements on the table.<p>

"Don't say anything," Mary scolded him lightly as they walked over and took their seats. "They're for Edith."

"Whatever for?" Matthew frowned.

"You'll see," Mary smiled as she glanced across the table and shared a knowing glance with Cora and Sybil.

Edith and Sir Anthony were soon announced by Carson as they came into the room. Greeting Violet and Cora, Edith sat down next to Sybil while Sir Anthony took his seat next to Matthew across the table.

"Perfect timing," Robert smiled at his daughter. "We're all quite starving."

"My apologies," Sir Anthony waved his hand. "I'm afraid I delayed us. Edith was ready some time ago."

"It's fine," Edith smiled at him. "Papa wasn't bothered for waiting."

"I certainly was not," Robert nodded, looking over at Carson and motioning him to serve luncheon. "Though we are rather eager for information, as well as food."

"Yes," Cora said anxiously. "So, what is my newest granddaughter's name?"

Anthony looked over at Edith and they shared a smile and a nod.

"We've decided to name her Marigold after reading _A Winter's Tale_," Edith said proudly.

There were polite smiles around the table as everyone weighed the name.

"The flower has been prized since medieval times for its healing properties and in our new world with the War finally having ended we thought it was appropriate," Edith nodded.

"George, Stella and now Marigold," Violet declared, pondering each of the babies' names. "They're all quite nice sounding names, aren't they?"

"They are," Mary agreed, giving Edith a polite smile. Marigold was not a name she would consider, but it was no concern of hers what Edith chose to name her child.

"To Marigold," Robert said proudly, lifting his glass.

"Here, Here," Matthew agreed, raising his own glass towards Sir Anthony. The rest of the table followed and toasted to the baby girl born just a week prior at Loxley. Edith had a rather fast delivery, and she seemed to be glowing even now days later. Her effervescene was nothing compared to Sir Anthony's beaming expression though. The man seemed rejuvenated and years younger following the birth of his daughter. Discreetly, the family knew his enthusiasm was from Edith having given him a child that he had long ago assumed he would never have. Matthew had even caught him blushing the other night after dinner when Sybil had joked that Edith could now start working on giving Sir Anthony an heir.

"Ah, I see," Matthew smiled at Mary. "The marigolds," he said, nodding to the vases.

"Very good," Mary teased.

Before Matthew could retort, the salad course was served.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ripon, Yorkshire, England, December 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>After luncheon, Matthew and Sybil had gone up to the nursery to look in on the children. Much to everyone's amusement, George would often spend time in the afternoons watching Stella sleep before falling asleep himself. The baby was a bit more responsive now, and even Mary's heart melted when she saw her daughter gurgle or coo happily at the sound of George's voice. It was rather random, of course, but both Mary and Matthew found it fascinating.<p>

"I'll be glad to wear my old clothes again," Edith sighed as they walked past some of the shops. "Anthony's too polite to say anything but I feel as large as a cow."

Mary laughed.

"I know that I won't get any argument from you," Edith grumbled.

"Oh hush," Mary scoffed. "You gained less weight than I did. You'll be back to feeling normal soon enough."

"I hope so," Edith nodded.

They continued on in silence. As Mary had predicted, their relationship had become easier following their respective marriages. Distance helped. Even when Edith was visiting Downton from Loxley, Mary was often not there, having spent over two years in London with Matthew. They simply didn't see each other enough to argue anymore, and time and life had an effect on them as well. The would now snipe at each other almost out of nostalgia than anything else.

"Mary, there is another reason why I chose Marigold for my daughter's name," Edith said quietly.

"You didn't want her to be confused with Cousin Rose?" Mary smiled.

"No," Edith shook her head. She looked at Mary seriously. "The name originally comes from the combination of Mary and Gold. I didn't think it would be as obvious as naming her Marianne."

Mary blinked in shock.

"I…you named her for me?" Mary asked.

Edith nodded. "I expected that Anthony would name her, but he left it to me. I thought about some other choices, but in the end I found I liked Marigold, and the fact it partly refers to you pleased me very much."

Mary shook her head in disbelief.

"I know that we haven't always gotten along," Edith continued. "But I've always regretted what happened when you were…sent away. I didn't say anything, or do anything. The whole situation seemed so strange to me, as though I was watching a drama at the theatre, and it would all end and everything would return to normal. I never imagined that Patrick would…well, I suppose I didn't know him as well as I thought I did."

"I doubt any of us ever did," Mary nodded. "But that is far in the past. I don't think of it anymore, and neither should you. Truthfully, you couldn't have done anything to stop it, Edith. That was the problem. None of us had any power back then."

"And now?" Edith asked.

"What do you think?" Mary arched her eyebrow. "We both have daughters who will grow up in a much different world than we did. We both have husbands who trust us with far more authority than Papa ever gave to Mama. I know it's not enough progress for Sybil, but I think the future is full of promise."

"I sometimes still can't believe it," Edith laughed. "When one of the servants asks me about something, I keep expecting Mama or Granny to walk in and overrule what I say."

"Oh, I have no such hesitation," Mary smiled. "Managing our household in London was great fun."

"I'm sure it was," Edith nodded. "But now that you're moving back, you'll need to cede your authority, won't you?"

"In some matters, yes," Mary said lightly. "Matthew and I are still managing the Estate. Even if Papa wishes to take control back, Matthew's ideas are so far along that he has to let us continue."

"And where do things stand between you and Papa?" Edith asked.

"Where it always has, I suppose," Mary shrugged. "We're tolerating each other, essentially. It's probably better than that, but neither of us wants to assume too much. We're keeping expectations low for now, and it's working."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1918<strong>_

* * *

><p>"My Lord, we're waiting on the last of the guests. We shall be ready for you shortly," Carson nodded from the doorway.<p>

"Very good, Carson," Robert waved his hand. "Make sure everyone has a drink before we go in. Carol singing is all the more pleasant with some fire in the belly, after all."

Matthew smiled at his father-in-law's comment, and the look of surprise that flashed across Carson's face.

"As you wish, my Lord,' Carson nodded, then took his leave.

"Good Lord above, I don't think I've ever looked more forward to hosting the Christmas party before," Robert shook his head, sipping his port.

"It seems we've had a string of parties these past few days," Matthew smiled. Between George's second birthday, Mary's birthday and their anniversary all falling the week before Christmas, it seemed he was constantly carrying gifts here and there through the rooms of the house.

"I keep forgetting to ask you where you found the recipe for Mary's birthday cake?" Robert asked. "Was it from Mrs. Bird? Mrs. Patmore has never made such a creation."

"Mother was careful not to offend her when she brought her the recipe," Matthew smiled. "It's Mary's favourite. My father loved lemon meringue as well."

"It was delicious," Robert nodded.

Matthew smiled at the memory. They were both shocked when Isobel told them that she and Cora had organized a small birthday luncheon for Mary. At first, Mary assumed it was more for George's benefit, but she had been shocked when her father had attended as well. It was the first birthday party she'd had with her family in years.

"I expect everyone will be quite jovial this season," Matthew said. "Even Sir Anthony seems to have a spring in his step."

"You've noticed as well?" Robert laughed. "Of course, an English gentleman should not speak of such matters, particularly when his own daughter is involved, but I've never seen the man happier, and I'm not so old that I can't guess as to the cause."

Matthew blushed slightly and sipped his port to distract himself. It was startling to see Sir Anthony flirting with Edith, and for her to return his sly glances. Not that Matthew was surprised that there was a fondness between the two of them, but to imagine the two of them being playful together, let alone the idea that they…well, Matthew was surprised.

"Have you thought about what is next for you, Matthew?" Robert asked. "With your career in Naval Intelligence over with and you moving back here, you'll need to see what life holds for you."

"For now, it's more important to see my family settled," Matthew answered. "With the War over, I suspect that the world won't return to what it was before. Things have changed, and so must we."

"I used to think I was my father's son and my duty to Downton, my legacy was my only concern," Robert said. "If the past years have taught me anything, it's that the walls of this house cannot keep the outside world at bay the way that they used to."

Matthew looked at the Earl curiously. Robert had been in a rather relaxed mood since they returned from London. He spent more time with his grandchildren than Matthew had expected he would. He even would gloss over some of their Estate discussions and did not scrutinize the decisions that Matthew and Mary had recently taken. Matthew assumed his father-in-law's behaviour was due to relief at the end of the War and that he would resume his old ways soon enough. That day had not yet arrived, however.

"We have a beautiful house, you know," Robert continued, glancing up at the ceiling. "I used to look around these rooms and wonder if the upkeep was enough, whether we were maintaining the same standard as previous Earls did. Preserving Downton was my entire life."

"It's the most impressive house I've ever been in," Matthew said cautiously.

"I was in the sitting room with Cora and the grandchildren this afternoon. George kept pointing to different things – the mantle, the light sconces, the windows even. I picked him up and carried him around the room, telling him about different objects he was interested in, the history of them, when they were purchased, which Earl brought them into the home. Do you know, until that moment, I hadn't truly looked at the sitting room like that? I said to Cora, 'this room is quite splendid'," Robert laughed.

"That must have drawn some reactions," Matthew chuckled.

"I think Mama said something snide," Robert chortled. "But it took your son to show me that perhaps I haven't spent enough time enjoying what I have, rather than worry so much about the future."

"And so you should," Matthew nodded. "Do you know, it's been years since I've come here, and there are still entire hallways that I've never set foot in? George always wants to go exploring. I fear one day he'll wander into a part of the house that even I'm not familiar with."

"You should be so lucky to still have adventures here," Robert smiled.

"My Lord, we're ready for you," Carson called from the doorway.

"Right," Robert nodded, finishing his drink and rising from the table. Matthew followed him.

"How is your _Good King Wenceslas_, Matthew?" Robert smiled.

"I had a dreadful time leading the Church choir in singing it when I was about eight years old," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Excellent!" Robert laughed, clapping his hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Then I've found us a soloist!"

Matthew shook his head and laughed ruefully as they came into the Great Hall. Mary quirked her eyebrow at him in question as he approached with her father's hand firmly on his back.

"Don't ask," Matthew whispered as he reached her side. "And I'm sorry, in advance."

"Whatever for?" Mary smiled at him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, dear friends! Happy Christmas!" Robert announced to the applause and cheers of all in the grand room. "For our first carol, let's have a go at _Good King Wenceslas_. My heir, Matthew Crawley, will be leading us! Matthew!"

Mary stared at him with wide eyes.

Matthew shrugged and took her hand in his. He turned to the expectant crowd and cleared his throat in preparation.

"Oh, this is going to be memorable," Mary laughed as her husband began the first verse.

* * *

><p>"It's all right, I've got her," Isobel smiled at Nanny as she held Stella in her arms. She smiled and made faces at her granddaughter, rocking her gently back and forth.<p>

"Yes, Mrs. Crawley," Nanny nodded. "Thank you. Master George! Come!"

George waddled over to Nanny and took her hand. She helped him over to the motor and got him settled in the back seat with Anna. Isobel and Stella followed, and once they were comfortable, Bates took the front seat next to Branson.

"Go on ahead," Matthew waved. "We'll see you at the train station."

Branson nodded and the car pulled away, turning down the long driveway.

"Have a lovely trip, Mr. Crawley, Lady Mary," Nanny curtsied.

"Happy New Year," Mary nodded and the woman went back into the house.

"Mary," Robert called.

Mary turned and glanced at her father curiously.

"Go ahead," Matthew said quietly, patting her back. "I'll check to make sure all your luggage is loaded."

"You have luggage as well," Mary said pointedly, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I think I may have a pair of shoes buried among all of your cases and trunks," Matthew teased, leaning over and kissing her softly.

Mary huffed at him, then turned and walked over to her father. They had said their goodbyes in the Great Hall as the outside air was chilly and a light snowfall was floating down. George had tried to run around when he saw the flakes, which made the process of saying goodbye to the family rather difficult.

"Happy New Year's Eve," Robert smiled as she reached him. "I'm sorry that you won't be with us tonight, and that you will miss the hunt."

"Thank you Papa," Mary said tactfully. "There will be many hunts in the future. For now, we want the children to have a proper holiday in Manchester."

"And so you should," Robert nodded. He paused, swallowing nervously.

"Was there anything else, Papa?" Mary asked, frowning slightly. He hadn't come out to just tell her this, had he?

"Mary, I…" Robert struggled. "I am…quite impressed at what a wonderful mother you've become."

Mary blinked in shock. She felt a lump rising in her throat.

"Thank you, Papa," she said tightly.

"As strange as it is to hear me say it, I'm sure, and as unlikely as well – my own father never spoke of such sentiments as I'm sure you remember – sometimes one shouldn't be so bound to tradition and old ways when there is truly no good reason to do so, at least not any that I can think of as being important anymore, in light of all that's happened and all that we've been through and…" Robert stammered.

"Papa," Mary interjected, completely flummoxed now at her father's rambling.

"I love you, Mary," Robert said finally, looking at her directly in the eyes. "You…you make me ever so proud."

Mary blinked several times. That word. When Matthew told her that he loved her for the first time, it was probably the first time Mary had heard the words since she was a little girl, and surely the first time she'd ever heard it from a grown man. Since then, he said it almost daily, sometimes casually as though he was saying hello, others with such depth and passion that it made her knees weak. She had gotten used to hearing the word spoken, and found herself saying it in return, to him, to their children, to her sisters even, which she never would have done before her life altering time in Manchester.

But to hear the word from her father was as if the Earth itself had stopped spinning.

"I know you do," Mary said finally, her voice catching slightly in her throat. She gave Robert a smile. "I'll see you when we get back."

"Have a lovely trip," Robert nodded.

Mary turned and walked slowly to the car. She nodded to William as he held the door open for her. She took a seat next to Matthew and automatically placed her hand in his. As the car pulled away, she turned and looked out the window. William and Carson stood back by the door. The Earl stood in the same spot she left him, smiling and waving to her.

Mary waved back at him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Train Station, Manchester, England, January 1919<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Cho-Cho," George said happily, "Can we ride the train again?"<p>

Matthew smiled as he took his son's hand on the platform.

"Yes," he told him, "When we go back to Downton, we will ride the train again. But, for now George, we're here in Manchester and we'll be here for a few days."

"Man-chest-ER," George repeated.

Mary laughed. "What are you planning on showing him first?"

"Why not start at the beginning?" Isobel spoke up. "We can take a drive by Fletcher Morris Botanical Gardens where you had your first date."

"That sounds lovely. However, technically the beginning would be the hospital, since that is where we first met," Mary noted.

"We can stop at both places," Matthew said. "But, I have another destination in mind."

"You aren't going to tell us are you?" Mary asked.

"It's a surprise," Matthew replied. "Are you ready George?" he asked as he squeezed his son's hand. The little boy nodded enthusiastically.

When they reached the taxis, Anna and Bates were already waiting for them.

"How is she, Anna?" Mary asked, smiling at Stella sleeping in her lady's maid's arms.

"Perfect, Milady," Anna smiled. "She's been sleeping soundly since we arrived."

"Good," Mary nodded. "Well, you're in for a treat, Anna. Mr. Crawley is intent on giving us all a tour, so you and Bates will get to see all the places that I frequented when I lived here."

Anna grinned, glancing over at Bates before nodding to Lady Mary enthusiastically.

"I can't wait," she said. Mary shared a knowing glance with her as the two cars were loaded.

Mary suspected that her husband intended to lead them to Manchester Cathedral and his father's headstone in the cemetery. However, soon this theory was proved incorrect. Once their cars approached Albert Square, Isobel discreetly dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. And yet Mary still did not understand where Matthew was taking them. She felt a slight rush of butterflies in her stomach, a sensation that he often provoked in her, ever since they had first met so many years ago. As their motor stopped in front of City Hall, Mary suddenly understood.

Bates stayed behind with the cars, and Mary took Stella from Anna as they climbed the stairs. Isobel and Matthew each held one of George's hands and they all went up together. As they approached the skylight that displayed his father's name, Matthew smiled in anticipation. He picked up his son and held him in his arms as he pointed at the stained glass.

_Dr. Reginald George Crawley_

Matthew said a silent prayer as he stared, then pointed to the name and smiled at his son.

"That's your grandfather, George," Matthew smiled.

The boy reached out his hand, staring at the coloured glass in wonder.

Mary tenderly held Stella's little hand and waved it in the sunlight filtering down around them.

"The Odyssey is over," Mary said.

"_Hope is the thing with feathers, which perches in the soul_," Matthew started.

"_And sings the tune without the words, and never stops - at all_," Isobel finished.

"It's so beautiful here, Milady," Anna said quietly, looking up at the ceiling.

"It is, Anna," Mary nodded.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Home of Isobel Crawley, Manchester, England, January 1919.<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Oh that is a sight for sore eyes," Isobel said fondly as the motorcar approached her home.<p>

"We're fortunate that Davis is here to prepare the house for us," Matthew smiled.

"Castle house!" George said with excitement as he pointed. Matthew ruffled his son's hair as he sat on his lap.

"Just what you used to call it," Isobel said with amusement. "What do you think Mary?" she asked her daughter-in-law as she saw her staring.

"It looks like it always did, like home," she smiled.

Once they were inside, Davis showed Anna to the room that was converted to a nursery for George and Stella. Bates and Matthew brought their luggage upstairs and placed it in Matthew's old bedroom. As Bates followed him down the hall, Matthew stopped and opened another door on the other side of the floor.

"This is for you and Anna, Bates," Matthew said plainly, motioning to the room. "Davis can help you with your luggage if you wish. The bathroom is down the hall on the right."

Bates was surprised that an upstairs guest room had been set aside for he and Anna to use.

"This is very generous, sir," he said quietly.

"Well, where did you expect that we would have you sleep, Bates? In the basement?" Matthew chuckled.

Bates shook his head and moved to catch up as Matthew continued on down the hall to the stairs.

Isobel sighed happily as she settled into her favourite chair in the parlour, taking a moment for herself while everyone else was getting settled. She looked around the room, fond memories and family moments from her past warming her. She wasn't entirely sure what she would do in the coming months and years. She knew Matthew assumed she would stay at Crawley House, and she probably would, to be near her grandchildren, but Manchester still felt like home, and a part of her wondered if perhaps she wasn't better off coming back here now that the War was over and Mary and Matthew had a family of their own.

"I know that look," Mary smiled as she came into the room. "And I object."

"To what?" Isobel asked curiously.

"You're reminiscing, and plotting," Mary said, taking a seat on the sofa. "Planning your escape."

"I've taught you far too well," Isobel laughed. "I should have expected that all those conversations we had about how a woman needed to always have a plan for her future would come back to haunt me."

"I knew a fair amount already before I met you," Mary nodded. "But you did make me brave, so you can blame yourself for that."

"You were always brave," Isobel smiled. "If I did anything at all, it was just to remind you of that."

"Well, you'll need to be on alert when we go to the hospital," Mary replied. "In my present mood, if I were to run into Cassandra again, I might say something rude."

"And I may not stop you," Isobel grinned.

"Grandmamma!" George called as he bounced into the room.

"Hello my darling boy!" Isobel laughed, taking her grandson in her arms. He automatically reached for her necklace and put part of the pendant in his mouth as he sat on her lap.

"George, darling, please do not do that," Mary scolded him.

"At least not in front of company," Matthew joked as he came into the room with Anna and Bates.

"Davis," Isobel called. "Please bring Anna and Bates into the kitchen and help them get something to eat. Mrs. Bird will be here later this evening, but I expect you can make do?"

"We'll find something, Mrs. Crawley," Bates nodded. "Thank you."

"Now, why don't we take a look at your Grandmamma's scrapbooks?" Matthew smiled, going over to the bookshelf and retrieving the large albums.

George squealed happily as Matthew brought the scrapbooks over to the table.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Midland Hotel, The Pearl Suite, Manchester, England, January 1919<em>**

* * *

><p>"Lemonade, Strawberry preserves, what else do we need to re-create one of the famous picnics that we used to have?" Mary asked, looking at the items she had spread out on the table.<p>

"Well," Matthew said, smiling at her from his chair. "For one thing, you would be wearing far fewer articles of clothing."

"I'm talking about the food," Mary frowned, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"So am I," Matthew smirked. "Dessert in particular."

"Stop it!" Mary blushed. She turned around to face him. "I know what you were looking at. Can you only think of one thing whenever we're here?"

"No," Matthew replied easily. "When you were turned around, I was thinking of one thing, and now that you're facing me, I am thinking of something else entirely," Matthew said, deliberately moving his eyes from her face to her chest.

"Matthew Crawley, you devil!" Mary smiled, walking over to him. "Your wicked thoughts are entirely transparent and your stare is completely lecherous."

"Well, if you read my thoughts as wanting to strip you naked and have my way with you right now, then you would be correct," Matthew growled, pulling her down on to his lap.

"Matthew!" Mary exclaimed as he kissed her neck, his hands grasping her bottom as he pulled her towards him. "The picnic!"

"Later," he hissed, reaching for the buttons on the back of her dress.

Mary grasped his shoulders and moaned as he deftly undid her dress and pulled it down her arms. His lips and tongue lingered on the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, then down across her chest. His efforts were rather clumsy given that they were seated in a chair together, but he made up for that in sheer enthusiasm.

"Matthew," she swallowed, gasping as he removed her arms from her sleeves, lifted her camisole over her head and undid her brassiere before she even knew what was happening. She shifted in his lap, feeling him press against her thigh before he took her closed his lips over her breast and she groaned.

"Bed…the bed, Matthew," she managed, holding on to him as he teased her with his lips, tongue and teeth.

"Can you only think of one thing whenever we're here, woman?" Matthew smiled against her heated skin.

Mary opened her mouth to retort, but could only groan as he resumed his attentions on her breasts and lifted her into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom, cradling her head on his shoulder as his mouth never stopped moving on her.

He placed her on the large bed before removing the rest of her clothes. She sat up to help him with his, but he pushed her gently back down and shook his head.

"Be still," he said darkly.

She swallowed, blushing as his eyes roamed her naked body while his fingers removed his suit. Heat spread through her as he revealed more and more of himself to her wide eyes, and exhaled out loud once he cast his pants and shorts aside.

"Open your legs for me," he snarled as he leaned over her and kissed her firmly, his tongue stabbing into her mouth, his hands pressed on either side of her body. She shivered as she parted her legs on either side of his hips, moaning into his mouth as he dragged his fingers across her breast, down her stomach and lower still.

He pressed lightly across her centre with his fingers, her anticipation spiralling. She blushed under his kisses as he felt the proof of her arousal, and her breath caught as he shifted forward, the warmth and weight of his body signalling his intent.

Mary cried out as he pushed into her. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, her arms pulling him fully on to her. Matthew was usually careful about being on top of her, not wanting to cover her completely, but she needed him now, as close as possible, to feel his skin against hers.

Matthew kissed her neck, the scent of her perfume filling him and driving his hips faster. There was always something special about loving her like this, being with her away from Downton, away from family, away from responsibility and duty. Downton was her family home. London was where she made her debut. But Manchester was theirs and theirs alone. There were no more illicit meetings for them, no more hiding, no more daring to push the bounds of propriety as they did when they were younger. But this was still their place, their sanctuary, where they had fallen in love, where they were simply Matthew and Mary, and where just being together was always enough.

"God!" Mary cried out as she released, holding him tighter as pleasure crashed inside of her. "Don't stop!" she managed to croak as Matthew began to ease his motions. He resumed at her urging, and she teetered on the precipice of another wave.

She forced her eyes open as his movements became more erratic. Framing his face with her hands, she pulled his head back slightly so she could see him, their eyes locking on each other. He bared his teeth as his hips thrust forward, his eyes widening, blue meeting brown in a familiar stare.

"Say it," Matthew demanded harshly. "Say it, Mary."

"I love you," she gasped. "I love you, Matthew. I love you."

"Mary!" he shouted. "God, I love you so much!"

"Go," she nodded, her voice tight. "I want you to."

Matthew pressed his forehead against hers, their eyes still staring at each other as he grunted and let go, Mary joining him seconds later.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1919<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Sy-bil…Sy-bil…" Sybil smiled, nodding to Stella as she held the baby in her arms.<p>

"Syb-Syb!" George called, sitting next to her on the carpet.

Mary shook her head at the sight. "I think you have quite a while to wait until she can say your name, darling."

"It can never be too early for her to learn who her favourite aunt is," Sybil said in a sing-song voice as she continued to coo at the baby.

"Don't be so sure about that," Edith said pointedly, sharing a knowing glance with her Mama as she sat on the sofa. "Stella and Marigold will be the best of friends, so naturally she'll think I'm her favourite aunt."

"That isn't fair!" Sybil grumbled, glaring at her sister. "You can't use Marigold to get into Stella's good graces!"

Mary smiled as she put on her gloves.

"Will you be back for dinner?" Cora asked, looking over at Mary.

"Yes," Mary nodded. "We're just going to take a stroll."

"Is that a new coat?" Sybil asked.

"Yes," Mary nodded, looking down at her tweed coat and matching long skirt. "I was going to wear it for the Hunt, but since we missed that, I thought I'd wear it now that it's warm enough."

"Darling," Matthew called, coming into the room. He smiled and nodded to the other ladies.

"Ready," Mary smiled as he came up to her.

"Say goodbye to Mama and Papa! You get to spend the afternoon with your favourite aunt and with aunt Edith as well," Sybil said, getting up and bringing Stella over to her parents.

Edith rolled her eyes at Cora.

Cora watched as Mary and Matthew both smiled and waved at Stella. They both wore brown hats, and Matthew's long coat matched Mary's outfit. Standing together, they looked quite sophisticated, the future Earl and Countess of Grantham dressed for a walk across their domain. Cora blinked several times and smiled, the image of her eldest daughter and her husband filling her with pride.

"We'll see you later," Mary announced.

"Have a lovely walk," Cora smiled back.

* * *

><p>They wandered across the ground, the slightly frozen grass crunching beneath their feet. The sun was shining overhead despite the cold of winter, and all of Downton seemed to shine. They walked for several minutes in silence, each of them lost in thought, their steps in sync as though they already knew where they wished to go without speaking.<p>

"We never did speak about where we would live once the War ended," Mary said after a time.

"I always assumed we would come back here. Isn't that what you want?" Matthew asked, taking her gloved hand in his.

"Of course, but our time in London was so much fun, just the two of us," Mary smiled at him.

"The four of us," Matthew corrected her. "And Anna, and Bates, and the other servants."

"The dozen or so of us, then," Mary rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps if we didn't know each other before," Matthew said. "If we were like a normal married couple and needed to learn about each other without everyone being there, then moving somewhere else would make sense. As it is, this is our home, isn't it?"

"It is if you say it is," Mary smiled.

They kept walking, the big house disappearing behind them over the horizon. Mary looked around, seeing trees and hills and parts of her family's land that she had walked as a child, or galloped past on Diamond. This was all hers now, hers and Matthew's, to share with her family and eventually with her children and the generations to come. She had vowed when George was born that she would raise him and her other children differently from how she and her sisters were raised, and she had already spent more time with George and Stella in these early days than Cora had spent with her through her first five years of life. The land would be managed differently as well. Matthew had already seen to that, and would continue to do so. She knew when War broke out years ago that she would never be able to go back to the life she had before she was sent to Manchester. Now, with War over, she was quite glad to never go back to that world again.

"So, about what we were discussing last night," Mary said.

"Yes?" Matthew asked, smiling at her.

"I think that five is a good number," she said, arching her eyebrow at him.

"Five!" Matthew sputtered. "Truly?"

"Why not? We're both young and we aren't lacking for people to help us take care of them and raise them," Mary noted.

"Five…" Matthew repeated. "I don't know…I was quite hoping to have you to myself after perhaps three."

"Don't be selfish," Mary teased. "Besides, you do realize what is involved if we are to have five?"

Matthew grinned and nodded. "That's the best argument in favour of five that I've heard yet."

"You're so predictable," Mary laughed.

"Well then…I suppose five it shall be, then," Matthew said. "I don't know if I can think of three more names."

"Well one of the boys must be named Reginald," Mary said.

"Mary…" Matthew rolled his eyes.

"No! I won't be swayed this time! I let you have your way with George and Stella. The next one is my choice entirely," Mary said haughtily.

"You chose Stella!" Matthew objected.

"Only because I knew you wouldn't let me name her Isobel!" Mary shot back.

"So how is it my choice if you are the one who comes up with the name?" Matthew asked in disbelief.

"Because!" Mary exclaimed.

They kept walking, hand-in-hand, arguing and gesticulating to get their points across. Mary and Matthew continued at an easy pace, the sound of their debate carrying on the wind, interspersed with the occasional huff, grunt and laugh. Downton Abbey was far off in the distance, and the acres before them stretched to the horizon seemingly without end.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Fin<em>**


End file.
